Familiar of Souls
by Iryerris
Summary: The newly crowned Monarch heeds the call of a summon by a zero. Disclaimer: I don't own Familiar of Zero or Dark Souls II, but I do own the Monarch. Please support the official release. On hiatus; see profile for details.
1. Chapter 1

He sat in utter darkness. The air was stale, the sole noise being the rustle of his tattered mantle shifting across the cold stone of the throne. The new monarch was faced with a decision; to kindle the First Flame, or to let it burn out and bring about Dark.

Shanalotte had only wished for him to take the throne; her final words to him were "What lies ahead only you can see." Obviously she was letting him decide, her goal already accomplished. Nashandra had tried to take the throne for herself with the intent of snuffing the flame. And Aldia cared for neither, curious as to only what he himself wished.

What did he wish for?

What had he sought long ago?

A name would be a good place to start. A home. He no longer remembered either. It had been so long since he set out he lost most of his memory. And the memories themselves, even after he received Vendrick's blessing in his crown and curing his curse, remained frustratingly out of reach. Like a forgotten dream.

His sword and dagger would not aid him. So he delved into sorcery and pyromancy. When that failed he studied the darker side of the soul in hexes. When that brought about nothing he even went through the trouble of getting Licia's ghost back to this plane and studying her miracles.

Everything he did to get his memories back ended in a dead end or failure. He stormed to the throne for… what? Was he just lashing out? Hm. He had much to think on.

His fingers brushed against his belt, feeling for the wire effigy given to him at the start of his journey. A flick of his hand brought about a soft glow in the chamber, and he gazed silently at it. Early on, he could gaze at this effigy and remember who he was when he had died.

Now, though, now he stared at it and wondered why he even had it.

The monarch gazed silently at the effigy, turning it over and over again in his fingers.

. . . . .

The small light he had lit had long since faded, and the monarch's eyes were slightly glazed as he sat on the throne.

He was one to always carefully consider every possible outcome with every possible decision, thus he would not carelessly walk over to the bonfire and ignite it just because he was bored. Absolutely not. Nope.

He twisted on the seat to gaze at it. It was a pitiful thing, really. It smoldered quietly, the odd sword characteristic of all bonfires simply red hot at the tip, rather than burning halfway up the blade, like most bonfires he had encountered.

Dying embers. That was what he was looking at. And he watched it silently before turning back. It would be painfully simple to simply stretch out his hand, reignite it, and suffuse the land with warmth and fire once again.

But fire needed a source to burn.

And he had a hunch as to what that bonfire would use as fuel.

. . . . .

He had sat there, for who knows how long, before a soaring feeling engulfed his body. He recognized it.

He was being summoned to another world, to assist in the slaying of the master's enemies. A voice he did not recognize murmured to his conscience.

As he accepted the call, he wondered who he would encounter, and what ills they were going through to call upon him.

Would he confront the Pursuer once more? It would likely be a trivial fight; no more did he have just a longsword to hack away at the giant armor; he had crushing sorcery at his disposal. The Pursuer was never a match for him after he delved into sorcery.

Perhaps he would confront the Old Iron King. He never liked it, always knocking him into lava. The first time it hurt, but subsequently it just felt cheap. He probably died more to the lava than actually dying to the King's fists.

He adjusted the two chimes on his belt, idly grabbed his staff and prepared to enter another world.

The dark chamber plummeted into an even deeper blackness, before a light at the end signaled the world. He raced into it, eager to see what awaited him. Blinding light engulfed his vision, before he was gazing at the ground, straightening his back in a long stretch. He had gotten stiff sitting there. And yet… this summon didn't seem quite right.

The first sign that something was off about this summon was that he could feel grass under his boot. The major reason that something was wrong was that it was ridiculously pure. Even in Majula, the one peaceful place in all of Drangleic, the grass was deadened, brown. Here the grass was a vibrant shade of green he had not seen at all.

In fact, it wasn't just the grass. Everything about this world was pure. The air was clean, the sun blindingly bright after his time on the throne. As he raised his hand to cover his eye, he became aware of who summoned him.

A girl, a little weed of one at that, was pointing an adorably tiny catalyst at him. Perhaps he was wrong about being summoned and he would be challenged to a duel? He didn't know, it had been a very long time since he had an encounter. A crowd was watching them, a rather large one at that, and they broke into murmurs. He noticed they were all dressed the same. Some society, perhaps? A covenant he was not aware of?

He waited patiently for the girl to bow to him. Only then would he bow in turn. Alternatively, she could always attack him. He would return what was due. What he got was completely different. The girl started jabbering in some language he didn't understand. He shrugged in response, and the crowd started laughing. He may not have understood their language, but some things are just universal.

Perhaps they were his enemies? They were rather close. The Staff of Wisdom swung in little circles. They didn't show hostile intent, but one could turn the moment he let his guard down. He paid that price a few times in the Lost Bastille.

The crowd started jabbering at the girl, who responded in turn and had quite the voice. She turned to an older man, dressed in a black robe and carrying a staff. So a sorcerer then, like Carhillion? Was he in one of the few surviving schools of sorcery? His fellow phantom? And sporting the Ring of the Living, at that. Perhaps they were surrounded.

Idly he put a hand on his hip, waiting for direction to the lord of the area. His gaze swept across the crowd, lingering on the strange creatures at their sides who gazed at him in response. The crowd seemed more intent on the girl, presumably his summoner. She and the man were (presumably) discussing something. Odd, he never discussed anything with his phantoms. There was very little reason to. At best they tossed a few carvings here and there, but he neglected to put them on his belt before he departed for the throne.

Ah, they were arguing now. Their voices were starting to get raised. He drummed his fingers against his chimes, letting out a rather pleasant ringing sound. He was getting impatient. His time here was limited, and he couldn't linger for long. He didn't really want to go back to the throne, but he had a somewhat limited choice.

The monarch then noticed two things.

First, his body was not surrounded in the white aura of phantoms. And he wasn't wearing the Ring of the Living.

Second, the girl was approaching him. Finally, they were going to go somewhere. She pointed a finger down. He raised an eyebrow. Was she-

She pointed at him, then pointed down again. She was demanding he prostate himself before her? Why? What'd he do?

The monarch bent down on a knee. He would only kneel. The Staff of Wisdom was proud and upright. His back was straight, like his old knighthood training had taught him. His hexer's garb, however, sort of negated the nobility traditionally associated with the pose.

If the girl had truly found something wrong with him, which he highly doubted, she can duel him for that prostration. He was a monarch now, a monarch of four kingdoms now. He would never prostate himself before some random spell slinger. A king would not normally kneel to his subjects either, but from the purity of the land he highly doubted he was in Drangleic, let alone any of the surrounding kingdoms. This land was like a sliver of light against the encroaching Dark.

He watched as the girl waved her tiny catalyst around, speaking something, and tapped his forehead. Amusing; a baptism? Had he been inducted in some sort of religious cult, like the Archdrakes? Because if so, they can expect a surprise.

His bemused thoughts were brought to an abrupt stop when the girl leaned in and kissed him on the lips. He raised an eyebrow; she was very lucky he could not reach his dagger, but considering he felt no drain on his life like with desert sorceresses, this might be some strange custom.

She leaned back and started speaking very haughtily. He could tell by her body language. He watched her silently, wondering just what she was trying to say to him.

Burning pain prickled in his head. It was minor compared to being impaled by the Pursuer or falling into lava. Of course it couldn't quite compare to having his head crushed in the teeth of an ogre, so he only rubbed at it, mildly annoyed. The pain stopped, just as quickly as it began. None of the people gathered seemed to notice due to the cowl still being up and hidden by locks of black hair.

The man, the leader of the covenant by his unique garb, said something and started to approach him. The monarch regarded him silently. He brushed aside the monarch's hair, squinted at his forehead, jabbered something, and began floating off.

Wait, what? The monarch blinked his eyes. To his rising disbelief, the man actually started flying off like a gods be damned butterfly. To add the nail in the coffin, the other members of the covenant started doing the same!

One of the members started mocking the girl who still stood before him, he could tell by his attitude and demeanor. Silently they both watched the covenant head back to a castle in the distance. Perhaps she couldn't fly because she was a new member in the covenant? She looked significantly younger than the other members.

Fascinating, covenants usually had a secret to guard or some sort of mission. And flight would be an invaluable secret to bring back to Drangleic. Perhaps he might liberate their secrets for his own studies? Rather excited, the monarch started striding towards the castle. It had been an incredibly long time since he discovered a spell he did not know, or blueprints, outlines of spells he could not recognize.

None of the three schools of magic so much as hinted at a scroll that would give him the secrets of flight. The Pursuer could levitate, but not outright fly like these covenant members. Flight… how easy it would be to traverse Drangleic.

Yes, he would join this covenant, seize their secrets, and depending on whether or not their goals were worthy or not, add his power to their cause until their objective was completed.

He began striding toward the castle, ignoring the cries of the girl behind him. Normally he would be incredibly suspicious at the kiss, especially with his experience with desert sorceresses, but considering he didn't feel any different, he'd let it slide. Perhaps that was simply her way of greeting phantoms, like bowing and using carvings.

He ignored the tiny fist that abruptly hit his waist. It didn't hurt, in fact he wouldn't even have noticed it had his clothes not rustled slightly. He'd dealt with far worse.

. . . . .

Unfortunately for the monarch, by the time he had arrived at the castle the halls were deserted. Curious, he opened a room to a shrieking occupant, whereupon he hastily closed the door.

What? They actually bothered to sleep?

Well, on second thought it wasn't impossible; not everyone in Drangleic was completely Hollow and even those that were occasionally fell asleep. Those with the sign still felt exhaustion, as many of his allies would attest. He'd walked past a couple of passed out drunken warriors in No-man's Wharf, after all, so their bodies still feel the call of time.

And considering he cured himself of his curse with Vendrick's blessing, he supposed he would feel all the things mortals had once again. It had been so long since he felt hunger for something other than souls he took the warm bread a kind passerby had decided to give him.

It was, admittedly, a bit tougher than what he expected, but considering most of the food items he passed by had long since molded over and crumbled in his fingers or was stale, it was rather tasty, all things considered. He enjoyed it.

He lay idly under a tree in the covenant's courtyard, himself igniting a nearby sconce with a flame butterfly. The tiny girl who presumably called him to this world gave up a number of hours ago, and shouted something at him that he had promptly ignored. He already slipped on the Ring of Whispers briefly to see if he could understand her; perhaps she had traces of monster blood in her like Tark, but the Ring did not translate her speech.

Someone who spoke an entirely different language then… that was new. And from the two moons that hung in the sky, it was entirely possible he was in another world, literally separate from Drangleic. It wasn't impossible; he didn't understand how the various soapstones and orbs worked. He hadn't seen one on the girl, nor any of the other covenant members however.

Silently he unbuckled the clasp on his leather pack and peered in. Various items lay scattered inside. Tied pouches of repair powder, samples of varying pine resin and aromantic ooze (he strung those to his belt, who knew what the monsters in this land were weak to) wilted dusk herbs and glowing golden lifegems (he tucked some into two pouches on his belt as well, never hurt to be prepared), various scrolls, neatly rolled and tied, and at the bottom of it all lay his single greatest secret. His cure to his curse.

A gleaming, ornate and masterfully crafted silver crown winked at him in the moonlight. The ruby set in the center flashed, filled with Vendrick's blessing. The Crown of the Ivory King.

He did not take Vendrick's crown, leaving it on the throne along with his gear behind Wellager out of respect for the great man. The chancellor had wailed with despair upon seeing the crown and sword, for he had remembered what his circumstances were, what Drangleic had become, and passed into the next world. Perhaps he would've encountered him, surrendered to grief, as a wraith.

He had no wish to associate himself with the proud and arrogant Old Iron King, and set that crown before noble Sir Alonne's gear, an act of respect to the proud knight, and perhaps an apology. He had relived the king's memory; seen Sir Alonne kill himself rather than serve, felt the king's sorrow upon seeing the act, and felt the king's overwhelming grief when he saw the throne that his friend and mentor kept all those years. The Iron Crown simply held too much memory, too much story behind it, for him to comfortably have without feeling the guilt of the king.

And he had willfully left behind the Sunken King's much for the same reason as the Old Iron King; he despised blind worship. A foolish man, worshipping a dragon of all things as a god… why would he do such a thing?

The Ivory King, however… he was someone worthy of his utmost respect. Devotion and mercy. Determination and loyalty. He built his kingdom atop a ticking time bomb, for all intents and purposes. He would willingly sacrifice himself for his kingdom, devotion he could respect and admire, yet in the same breath was uncomfortable praising due to how zealous it had been. He had done the impossible and wedded a Child of the Dark, Alsanna the Oracle. He was honored to have held the great sovereign's sword, even if it had been only temporarily. When he set out to Drangleic Castle, he knew his journey was coming to a close, and consigned the items he did not or could not use to the flickering flame of the bonfire. They were not incinerated, not by any means, and he could easily retrieve them should he manage to find a bonfire.

He had studied them, and while they were a mystery he knew they were made from ashes of humans, souls who were linked to the flame they kindled. They were also linked to the First Flame, and in this world the Flame was extraordinarily healthy; he could feel it resonating through the land. It would not be a problem to light a bonfire; all he had to do was find a freshly deceased corpse and consign it to flame. He was already hypothesizing what sort of magic the sword held, and such things were detailed in a scroll.

What was his problem was the blessing the crowns held. How had Vendrick discovered it? Was it the precious item Vendrick stole from the Giants? Was that the key to reversing the Curse? He couldn't ask the man himself; he had spoken to a memory of the king and he knew how the king ended, it had been by his hand, after all.

Ah well, he had time.

Wait, no he shouldn't have time. Why hadn't he returned to his own world? Frowning suddenly, the monarch pulled out a black crystal, touched his forehead to it, and focused. It didn't respond.

"What…?" he murmured. For the Black Separation Crystal not to activate, he had to be in his own world. But he clearly was not; he was summoned here, he recognized the feeling and acknowledged the summoner. There shouldn't be a way to forcibly keep a phantom locked in the master's world.

Then again, humans shouldn't be capable of flight either. Perhaps another of the covenants' secrets? They lock phantoms in their world? If so, that was rather worrying. What would become of him? What would become of Drangleic? He was supposed to unite the fragments of humanity and lead them to the future… wasn't he?

But then again, the world was dying. For all his might, he couldn't simply stop nature's course. Monarchs far greater than him tried and failed; there was simply no way he could do it. Perhaps it was fated the world would return to the Dark. It was all a long cycle, a long dream.

Perhaps he had simply been presented with the opportunity to wake up.

Still, he couldn't quell the voices in his mind as he finally fell asleep.

* * *

DIVERGENT PATH

Then she reached up and tried to circle his head. It was a move he was quite familiar with. Desert Sorceresses had managed to grab him and drain his life in a grasp much like the girl was trying to pull on him now.

Ah, so it was an ambush then. He'd heard of a few stories, of dishonest world masters summoning help only to kill them, either out of spite or simply out of humor, he didn't know. The monarch rose above her grasp and quickly stepped away, letting the girl grab air. She let out a noise of surprise, then with anger in her features tried again.

An ambush it was. He raised the Staff of Wisdom and focused magic into its crystal while moving back. The girl halted, shock spreading across her features. A rather bad move on her part, the monarch idly thought.

With a loud roar from the staff and a sharp jab in her direction, a Crystal Soul Spear was sent screaming towards her.

. . . . .

Louise's mind was frozen as she stared death in the face. Her summon been fairly passive, and dressed in those fairly tattered clothes but holding a staff, she thought she had summoned a fallen noble. Despite her distaste, she had moved to seal the contract but was instead spurned, her summon moving away, his eyes narrowing. She tried again, and this time his eyes hardened while casting magic she had never seen before.

Her mind was still processing this when Professor Colbert leaped in front of her and attempted to incinerate the strange, silvery-blue projectile. It passed through his defense like it wasn't even there before piercing his side without slowing. Blood splattered the courtyard, and in an instant the students, who had been jeering at her for summoning a fallen noble and calling for his death, screamed as one.

Her mind was moving on autopilot as she was swept into the chaotic crowd. Her summon had stiffened, eyes flicking across the students like he was eyeing which one to kill. Her stomach plummeted. So she summoned a fallen noble and a potential murderer… could her life possibly get worse?

. . . . .

The enemies were fleeing; did they have an innate fear of sorcery? It was entirely possible, maybe it was anathema to them like fire to dark stalkers.

But that fire was more worthy of his attention. So the phantom before him was a pyromancer… interesting.

The monarch circled the newly identified pyromancer. He had seen the shield of flames he tried to use to halt the Spear. Foolishness; crystal would pierce next to anything with extraordinary ease. To it, there was no difference between bare flesh and the most hardened of plate armor. The staff's crystal glowed gently, holding a spell yet not releasing it.

"Be gone from this world," he commanded. A final offer of mercy to the, likely hidden, red phantom. Two Rings of the Living, cleverly disguising themselves with the area's enemies on top of pretending to be the world's master… he had to make haste and find his real summoner.

The pyromancer looked up at him, seemingly shocked he spoke. He couldn't really fault them. It was the longest sentence he had ever said since he was forced out of his home, many years ago. Had he been forced? Had he left willingly?

…either way, he was without a home, wandering from realm to realm before hearing Shanalotte's voice and making his way to the ruins of Drangleic, and reliving his story from the beginning.

His face twisted in pain, the pyromancer tried flinging a fireball at him.

So he would rather die hard then… fine. He had dealt with stubborn phantoms before.

His fingers dropped and unhooked the Dragon Chime from where it rested on his belt. Clasping it in his fist, he switched to Force and called upon it.

With a rush of expanding air, the fireball met the Force shockwave and dissipated when it met. He had no time to enjoy the pyromancer's look of shock. His gaze swept across the surroundings, and he heard footsteps approaching. Yes, coming from the steps, a number of humanoid foes shouting at him. Some looked familiar from the crowd prior, others not. Either way, they outnumbered him and didn't look friendly enough to warrant him staying.

Time to withdraw. He held up the Dragon Chime once more, switching out Force in the process.

With a thunderclap, Wrath of the Gods was unleashed upon the converging enemies. Some flew back, some recoiled, and some were killed the moment the field touched them. With the enemies reeling from the miracle, the monarch turned and fled into the forest.

* * *

A/N: Name is already decided. ***** of ******. He just doesn't remember it. Not going to be a big old reveal.

Equipment: Hexer's set, Staff of Wisdom, Dragon's Chime, Caitha's Chime, Dagger (in off hand, dominant hand is right)

Appearance: Literally the starting male build but with black hair. He looks a lot like a younger Felkin, hence the image.

Divergent Path is a section where I look at a minor detail that would completely change the story, if such moments happen. Louise was minutely more aggressive and direct in trying to seal the contract, so the Monarch saw parallels with the desert sorceress. He's not very fond of kisses...

This divergent path was originally where I was heading, before I realized I couldn't make a story out of that.

This is a casual project, written purely for fun and practice with length, again. Chapters I write are way too short; better suited to writing moments.

Writing this while I read the light novel. Not using the anime. Takes a backseat to Shadowgift.


	2. Chapter 2

_The crushed eye orb was quivering in his pocket._

_Odd, why did it choose now to stir? He turned to Licia, grumbling a brief apology. "Sorry, I have to check something."_

_Licia smiled, and said firmly, "Do what you must." He gently put down the folded robes and chime she had given him, fished out the cracked and broken orb and touched it to his head. Perhaps some defect or something, who knows what happens when orbs or soapstones are damaged._

_Odd, why did Licia tense just then…?_

_He had little time to dwell on the thought before he was swept into the traitor's world. _

_He gazed silently at the floor for a second, before rising slowly to his feet, his longsword already unsheathed. He would mete out the justice a traitor deserved. He was a Blue Sentinel, and one of the highest ranking ones at that._

_His head slowly rose and met Licia's slightly biter eyes._

_"So you've figured me out," she said._

_No. Impossible._

_"I'll have to finish you off."_

_This was ridiculous. Absurd to the point of disbelief. _

_But the chime she raised and the Wrath of the Gods that flung him against the wall could not be denied._

_He was aware of the Sunlight miracles; he had been an Heir to the Sun for a long time before starting to administer justice. Ancient miracles that existed since the beginning of the world. Having the chance to learn one is a privilege few can ever gain._

_And he had done exactly that; he had collected most of the miracles… except one. The sibling miracle to the Bountiful Sunlight Targray entrusted to him. Both stolen from Lindelt monastery, but unlike Bountiful Sunlight was never regained._

_So this was the traitor that betrayed her faith and stole a miracle. Licia of Lindelt. _

_She tilted her chime at him and from it was flung a spinning, lightning spewing orb of light. He flung himself to the side._

_Lightning sparked around the room, whipping wildly, flaying stone from the walls and sending tingles down his flesh. _

_The dragon chime was gripped in his hand. He would confront faith with faith. Miracle to miracle._

_Spears of crackling lightning ripped through the air, carving deep wounds in her body. She stumbled back, and he saw his chance. With a shout and a charge, he knocked her to the floor. Licia grunted in pain. _

_And then he was upon her, lightning clutched in his fist as the chime rose and fell, again and again._

. . . . .

The monarch abruptly opened his eyes. Bad idea, incredibly sharp stabbing pain in his eyes.

Grunting, the monarch stirred before blinking rapidly, hand coming to shield his eyes from the rising sun. Sighing, the monarch leaned deeper into the tree. It was… extraordinarily idle in this area. No enemies had come to visit the covenant, nor had any monsters (aggressive ones, at the very least) come calling. He had fallen asleep for once and not actually woken up at a bonfire, but where he lay. It was a novel experience.

And he had dreamed, too.

The monarch let his head fall back with a dull thunk against the tree. He was not expecting to ever have to pass judgement on one he knew, let alone one of his teachers. Perhaps he was not fit to condemn the Old Iron King; he saw parallels being drawn, mistakes the king made he himself made, choices that he would've agreed with had he not known the consequences.

Maybe he hadn't taken the Iron King's crown because it would've been too relatable.

Absently, he opened the side pouch on his pack. It was a little place for the few trinkets he decided to keep, mostly as souvenirs or a visual reminder of a friend or oath.

A closed, wrought iron helm, a symbol of unshakeable loyalty and defiance.

A helm reminiscent of a wild beast, ironic considering its former owner was now peaceful.

A mask, its owner having nothing to hide and wishing her name to be remembered. A proud knight, reduced to begging in (her eyes) a stranger to remember her name. He pushed an effigy into her fingers in return.

A slab of ordinary titanite.

A pair of faintly smelly gloves. Not really needed considering he didn't brandish his sword much or even have it on him, at the moment. He really needed that bonfire.

A folded, chainmail robe, stained with Dark.

The chime Licia had given him. For all that she had done, he still considered Licia a… friend. He was hesitant to use that term, but she was his teacher and showed him no hostile intent until the moment he stepped into her world.

There was one more token. A brown feather. That was in a pouch of its own on his belt.

He wondered why he decided to look at them. Then he shrugged aside that thought. Wasn't he allowed to be wistful over his companions and allies?

What would happen to them, he wondered. What were they doing in Drangleic?

It was their choice, he supposed. He had no right to barge in on their journeys. Besides, they could call upon him, should they need to.

He put them out of his mind. They would be fine.

The monarch folded his legs and sat in a meditative pose, the staff always in his hand across his knees. Before anything else, he had to gauge the souls and life of the land. Just how powerful would his sorcery be here? He was caught up in the excitement of the covenant he forgot; Carhillion would've been annoyed with him.

That is if he wasn't practically fainting over the land; it was saturated with souls, wild and free. Not unreasonable, considering the life of the land, its First Flame, burned with power completely absent in Drangleic. Ahh, what he would do to see the Flame for himself! Perhaps he might be capable of taking a portion of it, provided the God of Light here would allow him to do so. If not, well, he had never been one to allow what he could or could not do.

A cacophony of voices started before the courtyard began filling with noise. Loud. Much too loud. He covered his ears and silently walked off. Drangleic was a quiet land, the one upside it had over this new realm. A flick of his staff and an inversed Hush fell over the crowd, but those outside its influence would notice. Sighing, the monarch fell against the tree and closed his eyes.

. . . . .

Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière wasn't feeling too hot today. It was a lovely day, with a refreshing breeze and enchanting weather, but that oddly dressed youth, her familiar wasn't there. She shouldn't have to dress herself; that was his job!

Grumbling and rubbing sleep out of her eyes, she shuffled out of her room to drag him back. Familiars shouldn't be disrespecting their masters as brazenly as he did! He barely even acknowledged her once he saw her classmates flying, and ignored her attempt at discipline so utterly she wondered if she missed.

Another door opened right when Louise was before it, and out stepped the single student who Louise utterly loathed. Flaming red hair like the Fire she commanded, strongly captivating with confidence in her movements, those… ahhh, she was everything she herself wasn't!

And since she stopped right before her door, she saw her and grinned.

"Good morning, Louise."

Louise returned the greeting with a frown.

"Good morning Kirche."

Kirche made a show of looking behind her. "Where's the commoner you 'summoned'?" She air-quoted the word. Why?

Louise's frown deepened. "You heard?"

"Of course I heard! Did he run off or something before you could give him your money?"

If Louise's frown could grow any more severe her face would split in two. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Didn't you just get a commoner from off the street and bribe him to pretend to be your familiar? That's what I heard."

"You heard wrong," she forced herself to keep calm. "I summoned a familiar, he just ignored my commands-" she shut her mouth so hard an observer would be surprised if she hadn't bitten her tongue. But she had already said too much.

Kirche laughed loudly. "He ignored you?"

"Yes." Louise ground her teeth slightly.

"You can't summon correctly and can't even discipline in your result… then again, what did I expect from the Zero? Flame!" she called. Heat assailed Louise a moment later, and a red salamander slithered out from her room.

"A salamander?" Louise asked, her voice filled with jealousy.

"Yes, and one from the Fire Dragon Mountains at that! Not even collectors would be capable of having one."

"How nice," Louise said bitterly.

"Yes, well, I was hoping to meet your familiar, but considering he ran off I may as well be off myself." Tossing her hair, Kirche strode off, her salamander following loyally.

Why did that Germanian get a salamander and she get a commoner who didn't even listen to her? That staff he carried piqued their interest, but after detecting no magic flowing around it they assumed he was a fake. Even if it was real, that meant one of two things; he was either a fallen noble or someone who stole a noble's staff, either of which would be horrible to her reputation.

Her day ruined before it could even really begin, Louise trudged to the dining hall.

. . . . .

His nostrils flared. "Hmm… something smells."

It was… enticing. Something inside him demanded he seek out the source of the odor. But all strong scents in his travels usually ended in something horrible. This one had no evidence otherwise. Then again, the fact the humans he observed did not carry much in the way of equipment added some credence. But what if it was something they were already familiar with, like the undead in the Gutter? That place smelled strongly, so much so that his eyes watered from it.

But his curiousity wanted to see the source of the smell. If it was harmful, he'd destroy it. If it was guarded, he'd kill the guards and investigate it then. Simple.

With a crunch of grass the monarch rose from his meditation under the tree and started following the smell. It happened to coincide with the covenant members and their destination, apparently. He was following them to somewhere. They gave him odd looks, something between disgust and surprise. He wasn't sure of what was so odd. Was it his garb? Did they not have hexers in the covenant? Sleeping on the ground outside though rarely did personal appearances favors, however. Maybe he just had dirt smeared on his face.

Well, they'd probably get dirty anyway during their mission or whatnot.

The covenant's first goal led them into a large, spacious hall, filled with light. His gaze swept across from end to end, surveying the covenant members.

On the left, some were a little older and wore purple cloaks. On the right were members wearing brown cloaks and looked significantly younger. "Mm, so senior members go on the left, initiates on the right… rather organized for a covenant," the monarch mumbled to himself, drowned by the members talking. Covenants were rarely organized; he only knew he was a high ranking member in the Blue Sentinels by the amount of rogue phantoms he had killed.

On a slightly raised platform at the back of the hall, he could see the leader, eating and discussing something with a woman with green hair. But since the covenant was in divisions, he could just be leader of the initiates. He had to find the master of the covenant then.

His eyes swept across the tables, seeing what was on them. So the food on the tables were the source of the scent, and from the way the covenant members were eating, it must've been safe. Still it was their food, and covenants jealously kept what they thought was theirs. As such, he pushed it out of his mind. Since he was up, he may as well go find a bonfire, and failing that create one. He could always kill something in the wildlife or whatnot. His goal decided, the monarch turned and began walking away.

A shout echoed through the hall before he could fully leave, and storming up to him was the child from yesterday, his summoner and, presumably, the world's master. He wasn't sure of anything at this point; the rules he was so accustomed to apparently no longer apply in this world. He watched her angrily (presumably, no one normal had that red of a face) speak to him for a few seconds before turning once again.

He made it three steps before he halted again. This time his head jerked forward after a resounding bang echoed throughout the hall. The chatter died down immediately. He blinked abruptly before spinning on his foot to face the child.

"Don't turn your back on me, commoner!" she shouted.

"Ah, so you've decided to speak to me plainly rather than talking in some language. Very well, I shall accept your challenge," he responded blandly. Whatever she did to him didn't hurt, but the aggressive stance she held combined with the vaguely threatening posture she held (it was difficult to take a catalyst that small seriously) announced her intention more than any words could.

She responded, equally contempt. "How dare you ignore your master all this time! And don't speak to me in that tone! As if a commoner could ever challenge me-"

Talking was a waste of breath in battle, he knew that much. While she ranted at him over the next few seconds he wondered how he should answer her challenge. The sorcery he commanded was not suited to single combat; he had no wish to challenge the entire covenant, just this initiate. Pyromancy and hexes were equally unsuitable for the same reasons. So that left…

Miracles, namely the spears of lightning it held. How ironic, he had dreamed of challenging his teacher in faith just earlier, and now he would have to utilize it once more. He reached down to his belt and unhooked the dragon chime that hung, already crackling with latent lightning. Flicking his mind's memory, he decided which spear he should hurl. Well, he should get a gauge on just how skilled the covenant was in battle. A probing strike, so the basic one will suffice.

He bowed slightly, and the child stopped, briefly surprised, before it grew into outright shock at the lightning beginning to surge around the chime, largely hidden by his closed fist and concealed even further by the white light poking its way between his fingers. The mighty bolt burst into existence with a ear-splitting whine and crackle. The covenant burst into noise.

"What? Lightning with his bare fist?"

"Is he an Elf?"

He hurled it at the one who challenged him with the force of a javelin, with the full intent to kill and responding to her challenge. It may be a probing blow, but if he can end a fight in a single blow why drag it out?

The spear of lightning dug deeply into her body before fizzling out and sending shocks throughout her body. She collapsed, screaming, and the monarch frowned slightly. Was she unused to pain? Oh, then she was indeed new to fighting.

Well, her fault for attacking him. That was a mistake he'd made multiple times throughout his journey. Several times did he foolishly or recklessly charge into conflict, and more than enough times was he ignobly crushed, burned, sliced, or fell to his death. That was the price you paid for overconfidence and recklessness.

Since she was new to the concept of fighting, he may as well grant her a swift death. Others may have gloated at their victory, or would've mocked her for her inexperience. Not him. It had never been how he was.

Another spear formed in his fist, but this one was far more potent. It was a miracle bestowed to him for his dedication to the sun, said to be a God of Light's own weapon. The girl curled into a feeble ball, her hands grasping the place where the spear had hit her.

"Oh come now, you brought this on yourself. Stand up and fight."

Out of his awareness, the sixth sense he developed after many deaths to constantly be aware of his surroundings he was aware of the covenant members screaming, and those at the back of the hall, the leaders, started shouting and making their way to him.

"Stand down, this is not your fight," he stated plainly to them, before he began to raise the crackling Sunlight Spear.

"You are hurting one of our students! Do you expect us to stand idly by?!" a woman yelled at him.

His brow furrowed, and the hand holding the fierce ray of light lowered before it guttered out. He turned to them fully. "Student? Why did she challenge me with so little experience?"

The woman sputtered for a moment, such was her anger. "She did not challenge you to a duel!"

"She did. She attacked me. I responded, as is appropriate."

"But to respond with lethal force?!"

"A single blow is all it takes. One can turn from friendly ribbing to a lethal blow in the span of a heartbeat."

The hall was dead silent now as the woman and the unknown mage argued. The mage was eerily calm and dismissive, like he hadn't just flat out stated he intended to kill Louise.

"That's him," one said.

"The commoner Louise summoned?"

"Yeah, I guess he's a fallen noble instead."

The hall broke into gentle murmuring, some genuinely worried for Louise, who was whimpering and breathing heavily as the nurse gently healed her wound. The spear hadn't quite blew its way through her body, it lacked the power to do so, but she was heavily scarred in a vicious looking, bright red wound. It looked like her skin had wrinkled and shrunk around the point of impact, looking for all the world like her body was trying to collapse at it.

"Enough, Miss Chevreuse," an old man finally cut her off. The monarch surveyed him. Dressed in black robes and having a rather impressive beard along with ordering his opponent down, the old man was at least of fairly significant rank. As if sensing his gaze, the old man turned to him. "I will need you to come with me."

His right eyebrow raised slightly. "And who are you to give me such an order?"

"Osmond, headmaster of this school."

His eyebrow went further up. "Indeed? Very well then."

Nodding at the staff and the rest of the students, Osmond turned and walked off, the monarch following. "Jean, I'll need you as well."

A balding man with glasses nodded stiffly. He was doing all he could not to simply flare out in anger against the strangely dressed man. His flames were itching to come out and burn his apathetic gaze. But he sensed he would be unable to do so; everything about the stranger just screamed at him, "Do not approach me." The three of them strode off to the headmaster's office, and chatter in the hall resumed, but muted while the medical staff carefully picked up Louise and carried her to the nurse's office.

With unease in their heart and worry in their minds, the students could only silently eat the food before heading to class.

. . . . .

The moment the oak door closed Osmond asked "Who are you?"

"I?"

"Yes, I already know Jean there. So introduce yourself."

"…would you believe me if I said I do not recall?"

"Pardon? How do you not know your own name?"

"Have you ever heard of the Curse of the Undead?"

A very long explanation had Osmond thinking and Colbert reeling. Such a horrific land of death and despair only existed in his dreams, but it was apparently reality for some people. The man had gone into detail about anything they asked him, ranging from what Drangleic was to the mysterious soapstones and ever present threat of Dark.

He waited silently in his chair, his cowl still obscuring everything above his eyes. A tense silence passed.

"If you could lower your cowl?" Osmond abruptly asked.

A few seconds passed while his brain processed that request. "What?"

"Lower your hood, please. There is something we must check."

No response for a few seconds before a gloved hand brushed back the cowl.

Black hair and tired blue eyes gazed back at them. He was… surprisingly young. He could've easily fit in as a student. If it weren't for the scars that pockmarked his body, or the callousness of his hands, or the intensity of his gaze. He also had a well-built physique that hinted at training with weapons and long times wearing heavy armor, and from the dagger's hilt that lay almost out of sight in the folds of his mantle he was still keeping up with that training.

They were not looking at a student or young man. They were looking at a world weary soldier and a skilled, incredibly powerful and extraordinarily dangerous mage.

Jean stepped closer to him before brushing back his hair to see his forehead. A slightly bemused gaze fell on him, saying "That's the second time you've done that."

Jean stepped back and nodded to Colbert. "Yes headmaster, those are definitely the runes I read about."

Osmond leaned back in his chair and let his breath whoosh out from his lips.

"The runes of Myozunitonirun, the Mind of God."

* * *

A/N: In the span of two days this story became my most followed, most favorited, and most reviewed project I'm actively interested in writing.

Why Myozunitonirun instead of Gandalfr? If Louise had summoned the Monarch earlier in his story, he would be a Gandalfr since he used physical weapons almost exclusively. Now though, his weapons are secondary to his magics, so it takes precedence.

The Monarch is powerful. He didn't kindle the First Flame, so unlike in Twisted Reflections by vendetta543 (highly recommend you read it), he still has the Four Great Souls. He's a master of magic (as if I hadn't made that already clear) and is proficient enough in close combat and a swift enough thinker to put down several highly trained and professional soldiers. He's put down demi-gods, warrior kings, dragons, the entire shlock. He may have died a lot of times, but he's still taken down foes that are many times more powerful than him and, by taking their souls, added it to his own.

Is he going to be eyeing students to kill them? No, he won't bother you if you don't bother him. Bother him and you may either get a bemused stare or a Crystal Soul Spear on how much of a threat he perceives you. Is he going to honor you if you honor him? Yes, bow before a battle and he'll bow back. If you attack him is he going to bow? No, he returns what is due. Honor is due honor, harm is due harm.

If you're wondering when he had the time to learn magic in his travel, he killed Licia right before he opened the Shrine of Winter, but before he claimed the Three Crowns. By then he already mastered sorcery, hexes, and pyromancy. His miracles were honed over those journeys, but it dwindled in power due to his emotions after killing Licia, whom he trusted.

Romance is entirely an option to the Monarch, but not one many in Halkeginia would be willing to take. If you'd like to see romance, tell me who you'd like to see with him and why.

EDIT: So it came to my attention that the familiar a Void user can summon is determined by the country. It'd be extremely simple just to change the location of the Monarch's runes considering I haven't gone into the Guiche fight (which may or may not happen now) and as such haven't clearly defined what the Monarch can or cannot do. It'd be easy to retcon. If you guys really want to make the Monarch a Gandalfr, go ahead and let me know, otherwise this bit of canon is gonna get ignored.

EDIT: The reason the students think the Monarch's an Elf is because the students don't see the chime, and even if they did they wouldn't connect it with the lightning magic. I'm making this clearer because I got called out twice (lovely) mentioning that the best of the rest in wind magic users can use lightning, most famously Wardes, whose runic name is actually "Lightning".


	3. Chapter 3

"So he's no ordinary mage then…" Osmond said solemnly while he replaced his hood.

"Yes, I used Detect Magic when Miss Vallière initially summoned him and detected something off about him. Now I see why; the Myozunitonirun, said to be capable of using any magical artifact," Jean nodded.

Osmond chuckled briefly, and both Jean and the Myozunitonirun looked at him curiously. "Forgive me, it's just ironic that the un-talented Louise managed to summon the most magically talented familiar possible."

"Familiar?" he said, his brow furrowing.

Osmond paused, before sighing. "It'll definitely take some time getting used to you being from a different world. A familiar is a creature assigned to a mage for life; you happen to be Louise's."

"And by Louise I assume you mean that girl I wounded?"

"Yes," Osmond said, his voice growing serious. "You realize if she perishes from that wound we cannot shield you from the anger of her family."

The man raised her eyebrow. "Her family cares for her?" Their eyebrows twitched, but they nodded. It was extremely iffy, what they considered caring, but undoubtedly Karin would not be pleased at all and a conflict between the two of them must be avoided at any cost. "In that case, I will heal her."

Jean stiffened. "You?"

"My miracles do not solely encompass protection against threats; they are called miracles for a reason," he said, rising to his feet. "Take me to her."

. . . . .

She shrank back when he entered, Jean and Osmond behind him. Osmond smiled reassuringly at her, although he couldn't see it. "Louise, we convinced him to heal you." He eyed her critically while they attempted to reassure her. She looked frail, much frailer than earlier before her challenge. Her movements were feeble and slow.

She shook her head, leaning back away from him. He rolled his eyes. She was as proud as Lucatiel when it came to accepting help, only in her case she lacked the ability to deny it. One of the nurses stepped forward. "Headmaster, Professor Colbert, I'm afraid that wound cannot be healed by our magic. It reacts poorly to water magic, bringing her even more pain."

He gazed at her. "My miracles do not incorporate water, she has nothing to fear from me." He walked forward, raising his chime. Louise whimpered at the sight of it, and the nurses tried to shield her with their bodies.

"Sir, you must leave."

"I will not leave until this girl is healed." He brushed them aside and they tried to forcibly drag him away. They lacked the strength to do so. He heaved greatswords heavier than pillars of stone; actually had lugged around a pillar of stone carved with Queen Nashandra's face briefly.

He shook the chime twice, and light burst forth from it and enveloped Louise in a soothing glow. Louise stopped shaking. Her wound rippled and vanished slowly, her skin smoothing out and the hole formed slowly closed.

"That should do, I believe. One cast is enough," he mused before turning and leaving.

"Wait," a tinny voice, lacking all the pride earlier in it halted him. He paused, turning his cowled head slightly. "Why?"

"I was told your family cares for you. I've no wish to part families before their time," he said shortly before walking off. He had healed his… master. One less thing to worry about. Now, to find that bonfire…

Wait, most covenants had a bonfire close by or around them.

"Osmond."

"What is it?"

"Where is your closest bonfire?"

Osmond raised an eyebrow at the peculiar question. Nevertheless, there were fireplaces that could be lit at any time. But, the closest would probably be in…

"The kitchen. You were relatively close to it this morning."

"My thanks. I should be able to find it on my own." It wasn't dismissiveness. He had found a variety of hidden walls hiding bonfires, and he highly doubted they would hide a bonfire.

. . . . .

The covenant members either fled from him or avoided all eye contact with him. Ah well, he was not bothered. He had no issues with it. He made his way to the hall, and only what he presumed was a cleanup staff of sorts. He was not unfamiliar with the concept, but Drangleic had fallen so far into ruin the Hollows cared very little for appearance and more on safety or strength.

He crouched before the bonfire Osmond told him. It wasn't lit, but it didn't smolder either, like most bonfires were wont to. Was there not a Firekeeper nearby? Hm. Well, it wouldn't hurt to light it…

He outstretched his hand. It didn't respond. The monarch's brow furrowed briefly in confusion. What bonfire wouldn't light? He stretched out his hand again. Still no response.

Perhaps he needed the ashes of an Undead before it would light… he looked around the room. There was a variety of food, but it didn't have any bones in it, not to his knowledge. Ah, there. He could see a bone sticking out from the garbage. As he pulled it out he shook his head. Discarding kindling for a bonfire when they were so poorly prepared… the covenant was clearly new.

He picked up the fist sized rock he prepared earlier today and began grinding the bone into dust. The ashes of a fresh Undead was preferable, but he had no corpses nearby and he shouldn't aggravate the covenant any more than he already did. He frowned again. Were they a pacifist covenant? Was that why a presumably Emit Force was considered not a challenge? This covenant was truly new, untested against what lay waiting in the world.

"Mm, that should do," he mused. A fine powder, previously half the bone lay on the table. He swept it into his hand, tossed it on the bonfire, and stretched out his hand again. Nothing.

He was officially annoyed. It should not be this much of a hassle to light a bonfire! What was wrong with it this time? He glared at it, studying it.

The ashes of a bone of one long dead…

The wood for burning…

He nearly slapped himself when he saw what he was missing. He didn't have a Nail, a link to the Flame of the land! His gaze swept across the room and found a long metal rod. Pointy and blackened, perfect. He seized it roughly, ran a finger down it, tying it to the land, stabbed it into the wood of the bonfire with a single smooth motion and flung out his hand. He nearly blew apart the bonfire in frustration when he realized something.

"Ah, the effigy…" Most bonfires he lit he tossed a human effigy into, letting it be lit by Hollows and tying it to his humanity. He fished out an effigy from his bag and stretched out his hand a final time. If it didn't work this time, he'd have to report to Osmond the bonfire was faulty. He wasn't really sure a bonfire could be reported as faulty, but then again he never had to set up a bonfire.

Success, the bonfire exploded into life with a crackle and the familiar sparks flying past his face. Lovely. He sat before it, basking in its warmth. He felt the Staff of Wisdom charging, the lightning and light that filled the dragon chime refilling.

But, something was… off. He could already feel the link fading. So the bone wasn't sufficient enough then… fine. He'd have to quickly select which items he wished to bring with him into the land, until such a time he could more officially make a bonfire.

A weapon, something more permanent than his staff and chimes. Something tied to his magic as well… the Moonlight Greatsword should suffice for his needs. He reached into the fire and grasped the golden brass hilt. He pulled it halfway from the flame, the rays of the moon filling the room. He studied it briefly, contemplating if it was the only option to him. It was, despite being fairly light, difficult to swing, but most greatswords were. Rapiers were too fragile, but a smaller sword would suffice as a secondary weapon. He grasped the familiar white metal hilt of a Heide Knight's sword, eyeing it fondly. This particular weapon had a place on his hip until the end of his journey, and the lightning infused within its metal was only strengthened by his faith.

Possibly more options to attack at a range, so a bow and arrows as well. Pulling the strings took stamina and time, so best make it count. A greatbow could easily knock down or kill any wandering bandits or monsters. He reached into the flames and pulled out a massive, ornate greatbow, an Alonne Knight Captain's. More than a few times were his troubles alleviated or averted entirely by a couple powerful greatarrows. A quiver full of them with intricately crafted tips were taken as well, designed with the sole intent of punching through and destroying enemies' equipment.

Critically the monarch surveyed what he would take with him on this second journey. The Moonlight Greatsword, a Heide Knight's sword, an Alonne style greatbow and two hundred and fifty destructive greatarrows.

His fingers brushed briefly against his beloved suit of Faraam armor. He would take it with him as well, but it'd be much too cumbersome. His robes were liberating. He really had nowhere to store it either; his pack was not viable. He pulled his hand free of the flame and the seemingly infinite space where his belongings floated.

At least he didn't feel quite so naked. Regardless of the fact he defeated Nashandra and the Throne Watcher and Defender with just his chimes and staff, he nearly went through his entire stock of herbs. He didn't have all that much left, only roughly ten wilted dusk and five twilight herbs. It'd be disastrous if he ran out in the middle of a fight.

He sheathed the longsword on his hip, fastened the quiver horizontally across his back, and gazed with consternation at the greatsword and greatbow. Hesitantly he slung the bow at an awkward angle diagonally across his shoulders before picking up the greatsword with his left hand. A bit too heavy; he switched the staff and the greatswords' positions. Better.

He couldn't roll now, not with the chance of breaking the bow, but hopefully he wouldn't have to.

This would have to suffice until such a time could come that he found a more permanent bonfire. He gazed with dismay at the embers that remained.

Five minutes? The corpse that bone came from was too long dead! Or not human at all. He sighed, before rising. It felt somewhat awkward with all this stuff on him, but he was at least modestly skilled with them; far better to use stuff you knew how to use, rather than try something new and pay the price. He wouldn't compare himself to the Alonne Captains in terms of marksmanship, or devoted swordsmen in swordplay, but he could certainly pull his weight with them.

Really, his greatest strength was not his magics but his diversity. Instead of finding a single path to victory he settled on multiple paths. Where specialists of the blade would cut him to shreds he'd respond with a single, well placed greatarrow or Soul Spear. Where mages attempted to barrage him with sorcery he weaved in between and lopped off their arms or legs with sword and greatsword.

Letting the immense greatsword slide down briefly before he brought straightened it, he strode out the entryway, the bonfire sparking before guttering out.

The sight of the suddenly heavily armed stranger had the staff of the school boring down on him before he was brought once again to the headmaster's office.

"This much equipment is… excessive."

"You can never be too certain, and there is no such thing as 'too much' equipment." A technical lie; only once had he tried to exceed what he could comfortably carry. When he was trying to get into the Gutter, he had taken to using Havel's armor. A tiny jump onto a rather slender rafter made it splinter under his feet before he flailed and fell.

Another time in the Dragon's Aerie, he fell off a ledge and had the incredibly heavy suit of armor promptly crush his legs to powder. He probably would've survived that drop had he worn his robes. Since then he hadn't touched the set.

He was also practically throwing himself to the floor and spending several seconds trying to get up, which was simply not acceptable when facing agile and quick phantoms.

"Just… try not to scare the students. Louise should be let out in a few hours, why not head to her room?"

"Why?"

"You're her familiar, you should at least be there to greet her."

"I suppose saying hello will suffice as an apology."

. . . . .

Louise made her way slowly to her room. She had been excused from class for the rest of the day, following her familiar's attack. He wasn't a commoner, she would've had to be blind to deny that now. So he was a fallen noble after all…

And it was abundantly clear that he ignored her words and perceived it as a slight to him; why else would he take it as a challenge?

Even her familiar was more magically talented than her… he practically taunted her just by existing. But what could she do? She couldn't cast any spells on him, unless he took it as a challenge. Calling her family was an option, but she would rather die than let Eleanor find out her familiar could do magic while she still struggled with the most basic of spells.

She heaved a heavy sigh. At least no one would mock her, they were all still in class. She opened the door to her room.

And froze in the doorway.

Sitting on her sofa and staring out the window at the sky and forest was who she summoned. And he was much more armed and dangerous than when she last saw him. A massive blueish-teal sword lay nestled in the crook of his arm, another smaller one lying on the table next to him. He was leaning idly on an incredibly large bow, with a quiver of arrows as big as spears close by.

He turned his head. "Hello there."

She shook her head. Injured or not, she was still the proud daughter of the Vallière. "Good afternoon, familiar."

The room fell into silence, her familiar silently regarding her while she did not nervously fidget. She cleared her throat. She had a question to ask. "Will you be my familiar?" Despite being a fallen noble, he was still a noble; he might say no, and if then she might get a chance to redo the summoning.

"You are the one who summoned me, yes?" he queried.

A nod.

"Then I've little choice; I shall be your 'familiar'."

She exhaled, relieved. "Then never forget! I am your master!" she would've said this with a little more confidence had she not known he could hurl lightning bolts with his fist, and with all those weapons she had little doubt he could kill her in a hundred different ways.

He opted to ignore her, turning to gaze out the window. "Do you plan on doing anything today?"

"No. Because of your injury, I've been excused for the remainder of the day."

"Does it still hurt?"

"…no."

"Then go and learn. Never let pain dull your experience and motivation."

She paused. He was giving some oddly inspiring motivation, she would never progress if she meekly shied away from pain. "Come then, familiar."

He stirred, before rising. He made to reach for his weapons. "Leave them here," she ordered.

"What if we are ambushed?"

"We won't be ambushed, and you don't need to worry about your things being stolen."

"How confident are you in that statement?"

"Absolutely confident," she couldn't help but let a little bit of an edge seep into her voice. He was trying her patience.

"Confident indeed then…" he muttered, before turning with a swish of his robe. He clasped his hands behind his tattered cloak and stared down at her.

_Brimir, he's tall…_ Louise thought. She might've thought he was handsome had he not done… all he did. Now she just felt intimidated.

"You will have to lead, I'm not familiar with this area."

He followed her at a fairly respectable distance, watching as she locked her room and made their way toward the class. A rumble of noise began to start, and she slumped forward a little. She had missed class, but there was always lunch.

"Familiar, we missed class. I shall be eating."

"And what do you wish me to do?"

"Follow, of course. Simply because we missed the morning and early afternoon classes does not mean we cannot have the end classes. However, you will not be eating."

He shrugged. "If you want."

Louise frowned. It wasn't much of a punishment if he didn't care. Had he eaten prior to going to her room?

"What were you doing in my room?"

"Waiting for you. Osmond told me to."

"The headmaster told you to wait in my room for me," she said flatly.

"Yes, something about me being your familiar, so it should be natural I greet you. I greeted you," he pointed out almost as an afterthought.

. . . . .

The monarch folded his arms and waited for his master while she ate in the grand hall from that morning. He was in the school's courtyard, along with the rest of the monsters out there. They didn't show any hostile intent, even when he walked right up to one and poked one.

Since he was unarmed, he wouldn't attack them.

He sighed, before sitting down on the grass. He got twitchy and nervous without the reassuring weight of his staff in his hand, and usually at the very least he had his dagger, but that along with the rest of his weaponry was sitting in his master's room. If something attacked him he only had his bare hands to defend himself, which nine times out of ten ended poorly. He didn't have the Conquerer's Seal on him at the moment.

The land was pure, however, no threat or feel of the Dark at all. It was healthy, the lands' gods apparently still here. Why else would the land be so healthy? Maybe his worries were unfounded if the gods still watched over the land.

He closed his eyes and meditated. If nothing else, he might as well attune himself to the land more.

He didn't know it, but a salamander and blue dragon were both gazing at him curiously before they both got up to him.

Heat. He was aware of heat, much too close for him to be comfortable. He cracked an eye open and stared a red salamander in the face. Out of reflex he flung himself backwards, hand going reflexively to his dagger. He brushed against nothing, before he stared at it.

It did nothing but stare at him. He stared suspiciously back, circling around it automatically. He bumped into something hard and scaley, and he leapt back immediately. A blue drake also was staring at him.

His hand reached for a pouch on his belt where he stored his rings. He gazed at each one critically before slipping a certain one on. "Hello?" he tried.

Immediately every single monster turned as one to him.

"Human?"

"Human spoke our language."

"Human can talk to us."

The monarch backed away slowly while the monsters in the courtyard converged on him, all clamoring for his attention.

. . . . .

The students were greeted with a singularly unusual sight. The stranger Louise summoned was conversing with their familiars, and even more unusually, they seemed to be listening to him and responding in kind.

They were listening intently to him, who was speaking in some strange, garbled tone. It seemed just off to them.

Louise saw and frowned. "Familiar?"

He looked up, and the rest of the students' familiars turned to her as well.

"…?" he tried saying, before pulling a ring off his fingers. "What is it?"

"What were you doing?"

"Conversing with the other familiars. They have quite a lot to say," he said before rising to his feet. "I take it you've finished your meal?"

She nodded. "Then, let us be off." The familiar cried out in protest, and he slipped on the ring briefly and hummed out something that satiated them, because they lapsed into silence and went to their own masters.

He pulled off the ring again and folded his hands behind his back as he followed Louise, who was unusually silent.

. . . . .

The class was unique. He learned about his sorcery in the open, rather than enclosing himself in a room. It made mistakes more diluted in nature; rather than damaging structures, discharged sorcery, pyromancies, or miracles would simply fly off into the sky, where he could freely experiment with the power that was taught to him.

There was a slightly lowered center in the front of the room, with the students in their seats rising upwards towards the ceiling. It was an unorthodox way of teaching as far as he knew. What could they possibly do in a room like this?

Then again, he had very unorthodox teachers, never formally learning his magics.

The moment the two of them stepped into the classroom, they were greeted with silence. Then the students started murmuring to each other. He didn't really care for their murmurs, they did not concern him. He saw some familiar monsters. The salamander was sleeping under a crimson-haired girl's (her name was Kirche, if what the salamander shared could be trusted) chair. A snake peered into the classroom window. A whistle had the snake retract its head. Various other creatures littered the room, all of them who he had gotten acquainted with only half an hour or so ago.

"That's him."

"The Elf Louise summoned."

Louise frowned. An Elf? Surely not… she stole a gaze at her familiar, who had his gaze sweeping across the room, eyeing her classmates critically. Then again, she had never seen her familiar's ears. He had that cowl up nearly every single moment she'd seen him.

"Are you an Elf?" she asked him quietly.

"A what now?" he asked, amused.

"Nevermind." An Elf would not be ignorant about their heritage: they were very proud beings from what her mother told her. "Pull out my chair, familiar." The class quieted and stared.

Blatantly ordering an Elf, the very one who injured her so severely earlier that very day! The class was confused on whether to be astonished at her audacity or the fact he actually obliged and pulled out her chair, before sitting next to her.

"Ah," Louise started, before pausing.

"What is it?" he asked.

"That's a mage's seat. Familiars aren't allowed to sit in it."

"I would consider myself a mage, wouldn't you?" Technically he would refer to himself as a sorcerer, but if they would insist on using the unusual term he would do his best to oblige.

"I… yeah," Louise sighed, defeated. She couldn't deny the fact he used magic, and to a degree that even her fiancé would be hard pressed to match. Not even Wardes could materialize lightning with his bare fist.

The door opened, and the teacher strode in, her face doing its best to look friendly, but it became fierce the moment she saw him.

"You…" she breathed, fierce and subtly angry. The teacher who confronted him when he hurled the Lightning Spear into his master's chest. Chevreuse, if he recalled correctly.

"I," he said simply.

"What're you-" she started before shaking her head. "Let's begin the lesson," she announced firmly. With a flick of her catalyst (equally as small as the one his master held, the school's catalyst? Entirely possible, he noted), a few small rocks materialized on her desk.

He leaned forward, interested.

. . . . .

The school had a most unusual sorcery; it was apparently pre-infused with elements. It wasn't like the sorcery taught by Carhillion; it was rather more like the pyromancy Rosabeth had, but never did she need a catalyst to command fire, using the inner flame in all things.

Carhillion and indeed most sorcerers looked down on the primal elements, seeing them as unrefined and primitive. But the sorcery of this land combined the two… unusual indeed.

"Now, would anyone care to give it a go? Transmute these pebbles into any metal you wish."

She herself had turned the pebbles to gold, a fairly precious metal in Drangleic. It had been used as currency before the kingdom's collapse.

"Miss Vallière? Are you up to it?"

His master fidgeted, but did nothing.

"No? Understandable, you were injured earlier today. Anyone else?"

Louise rose. "I'll do it." Her familiar's words rang through her head.

_"Never let pain dull your experience and motivation."_

He was watching her idly. Even if he was an Elf, even if he could command magic that would make even the best of mages green with envy, even if all that was true, he was her familiar. He submitted to her, so she should be capable of the simple task of turning rock into metal! She'd show him.

"Miss Vallière, are you sure? You shouldn't strain yourself," the teacher said, concerned.

The students were mumbling their agreements. She had been injured pretty severely; in all honesty they were surprised she even came to class.

"I'm sure. I can do this," Louise said, striding to the front.

"Um…" Kirche spoke up. He turned to face her. He could appreciate her beauty, but he knew those with beauty always held something dark. The desert sorceresses were a prime example of using beauty to trick travelers; even he had fallen victim. Once. But once was enough for his life to be drained. Mytha, the Baneful Queen was another example. Beauty was only skin deep.

"Yes?"

"She shouldn't…"

"Why?"

"It's… dangerous."

"How so?"

"You've never taught Louise before, have you?"

"No, but I've heard excellent things from Headmaster Osmond and Professor Colbert."

The teacher stood next to Louise, who made it to the front.

"Now, visualize the metal you wish you transmute the pebbles into." Louise nodded, and began chanting.

Hm, a novice indeed. Masters of sorcery had no need for chants; the priestesses of Amana chanted, as did the desert sorceresses, albeit briefly, and they used to most basic of all sorceries. Even he had to chant briefly before firing off a spell or pyromancy. As he matured, honed his intelligence to a rapier point, he discarded them, and the clear bluetone ring around his finger only made his sorcery that much faster.

As he noted his master's prowess, he noted the students beginning to cringe and cower. He noted this idly before turning his gaze back to his master and the pebbles.

Louise finished her chanting, uttered a sharp word and flicked her wand.

The pebbles promptly exploded.

Louise and the teacher caught the blast full-on and were thrown against the blackboard, as people screamed. Frightened familiars added to the chaos. The salamander suddenly woke from its sleep and stood up on its hind legs, breathing a jet of flame. A lion-like beast, a manticore he had learned, burst into flight and smashed through a window to escape. Through the hole, the giant snake that had been peeking in earlier slithered in and swallowed someone's raven.

Kirche stood up and pointed a finger at Louise.

"That's why I told you not to let her do it!"

"Jeez, Vallière! Save us some grief and just quit school already!"

"My Lucky got eaten by a snake! Lucky!"

The monarch raised an eyebrow, rather impressed his master somehow cast a different spell entirely different than what the chant entailed.

Mrs. Chevreuse lay on the floor; judging by her occasional twitching, she wasn't dead.

A soot-blackened Louise rose slowly. She was a miserable sight to behold. Her clothes were ripped, but she was unharmed, astonishingly enough.

Still, her demeanor was rather commendable. She didn't seem at all fazed by the discord in the room. She pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the soot off her face.

"Looks like I messed up a little..." she said, in a weak voice.

That elicited a vehement response from the other students.

"That wasn't 'a little!', Louise the Zero!"

"Your success rate is always ZERO!"

Rather harsh for a student, but with such an incredible failure he can't really speak otherwise. Not even he messed up his first sorcery that badly, and he had spent the better part of his journey using a longsword until then.

* * *

A/N: This author shamefully admits he copy pasted the last bit from Baka-Tsuki and prostates himself before you asking for forgiveness.

The meeting between them was a bit delayed due to... situations... but we should be back on course. So here we see the Monarch's first real interactions with Louise, who shows a bit more humbleness after getting one shotted by the Monarch. The poor girl's scared stiff and might be a little timid for a bit, but really, wouldn't you?

The overwhelming majority of reviewers (all of you lovely folk) don't seem to mind the Monarch staying Myozunitonirun, so Myozunitonirun he shall stay. (God damn that's a pain to type)

I gave him a bonfire, but it's not permanent and a permanent one won't pop up until after Wales' arc minimum due to the conditions behind it.

We know so little about bonfires, so I'll be using my own headcanon as to what they are.

Some of you might protest me giving the Monarch extra equipment, but really, no sane person unless they are purposefully handicapping themselves for an extra challenge would solely use one aspect of combat. No one would devote themselves entirely to melee because magic and ranged will make your day pretty rough and vice versa.

The player characters in Dark Souls, as vendetta543 noted, is deadly for their ability to plan, think, and analyze critically, but it's also the incredible amount of diversity they have access to. They can adjust to a lot of different situations in game.

I did state repeatedly the Monarch was fairly proficient in melee combat prior to taking up magics, and marksmanship sort of came naturally. I considered other weapons, and he may permanently settle into a particular weapon or not. As for armor, I do have some semi-realistic ideas involving putting armor underneath his robes: you can't do that in game, but I'm not going to strictly follow what is and what isn't permissible. For obvious reasons, it won't be heavy armor.

The Monarch's fighting style is sort of like a war mage; preferring to fight from a distance but also pretty damn good up close. The bow and arrows is just insurance in his eyes.

The Moonlight Greatsword might also serve a minor plot point with the dragons, so that's one of the major reasons I'm using that.

On romance, I thank you guys for your feedback. The two of you who clearly stated who they'd like the Monarch paired up think that Henrietta is the best girl for him, and I do agree that such a pairing would be interesting with the Monarch comparing her to the four great kings.

He used the Ring of Whispers to speak with the familiars, and for his voice think of the Ancient Dragon and how it sounded and you'll have a rough idea of how he sounds when he has the ring on.

We should see the Monarch start to interact with the characters next chapter, provided my schoolwork permits it. Don't expect these chapters to always come out as quickly as they have; I try to type them in a timely manner as I read the corresponding LN chapter, but I do have schoolwork and thinking of how the Monarch would change canon in comparison to Saito.

EDIT: After critically thinking it over and actually starting a character following the Monarch's build literally called The Monarch, I've decided to change the longsword to a Heide Knight sword.

It was originally a longsword to keep in tune with the promotional Bearer of the Curse: full Faraam's, a longsword, and the Golden Wing Shield, but since the Monarch follows a Faith/Int lean in his build, a Lightning Heide Sword is more suited to him than a plain old longsword. I actually was going to change it in the very next chapter, but considering that's enough equipment for a while, this should be the absolute final change in equipment for a good portion of the story.

If you're wondering what the build is, here it is; I've actually gotten some questions concerning what he's wearing and his equipment.

SL 357 Sorcerer

Vigor: 40  
Endurance: 30  
Vitality: 30  
Attunement: 70  
Strength: 35  
Dexterity: 40  
Adaptability: 25  
Intelligence: 80  
Faith: 60

Equipment: Full Hexer's Set, Crown of the Ivory King (not worn)

Right Hand: Magic Staff of Wisdom, Magic Moonlight Greatsword/Lightning Heide Knight Sword, Alonne Greatbow

Left Hand: Pyromancy Flame, Lightning Dragon Chime, Dark Caitha's Chime

Ammo: Destructive Greatarrow x 250

Rings: Clear Bluestone Ring, Southern Ritual Band, King's Ring, Empty (his free ring, which changes as the situation needs)

Items: Estus Flask, Old Radiant Lifegem x 20, Twilight Herb x 5, Wilted Dusk Herb x 10, Throwing Knife x 10 (emergency only), Aged Feather

While preferring to fight at the back, the Monarch isn't afraid to get up close and personal. Most of his items were used in the fight against the Throne Defender and Watcher, Nashandra, and Aldia in rapid succession.

Because he's collected every spell (remember those scrolls I mentioned in Chapter 1?) he can use any spell with the exception of the hexes that require souls to use, such as Climax, because souls in their free flying state do not exist in Halkegenia. It still follows the number of uses, but it'll automatically restore itself over time at one use of every spell every hour. He can eat herbs to replenish his willpower immediately.

I do know that the Crown of the Old Iron King would actually be best for him considering what it does, but the Monarch would be a RP character and wouldn't be able to possess the Crown, for reasons I hopefully made obvious by now.

EDIT: It's about time I got called out on mistakes I made. Thanks, MM.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been… roughly a week or so since he arrived in the land. He didn't really know; time never seemed to flow in Drangleic. The sun never moved in Majula, but were he take what felt like a ten minute walk to Drangleic Castle, it was night and raining.

But the sun here moved regularly, and it had gone dark roughly seven times since he came here. That was night, if the text of the kingdom prior to the Curse was accurate. Time seemed to distort and become meaningless when the Curse appeared.

Because of the unusual pattern of time, he felt tired at different times. He never had a rhythm or set pattern in the days. He'd do whatever it took to pass the time. Sometimes he meditated long into the night. Other nights the courtyard would be filled with the whoosh of a sword or the heavy thwack of arrows hitting a tree. When he did feel sleep's call, he trudged back to his master's room and fell asleep on the sofa. She pointed him to a stack of hay at first, but after he interpreted it as a command to dispose of it and tossed it in the garbage she sighed and gave up. She was much more subdued than when she first summoned him.

In the mornings however, he was required to rouse his master from her slumber. At first he tried nudging her, and when that failed contemplated slapping her. It was how he woke up the passed out drunkards in No-man's Wharf. In the end however he just shook her until she woke. She was a heavy sleeper.

After he roused her she demanded he dress her, which he did, bemused. Why she couldn't simply put on her uniform herself escaped him, but if that was what she wanted, then he might as well humor her for a while.

After he finished dressing his master, they would usually go to eat breakfast. Occasionally he would join her, grabbing a bowl of soup before wandering off in the courtyard and talking with the familiars. Louise would go to class when the sun was high while he would converse with the familiars. Every now and then there was a rather loud explosion like a firebomb going off, but they slowed as the week progressed before stopping completely. She also looked more and more downtrodden afterwards.

But, her issues was not his own, not until she brought a request for aid. Since she had not done so, he would not offer if she could handle it.

At first, she tried to have him do stuff; chores and idle tasks. When he tried, amused, he had messed up so spectacularly she wouldn't leave her room for a day until she could get her clothes repaired. She had tried exactly once after that, and since the amusement of doing laundry and cleaning had dissipated, he simply stared at her. It took all of a minute for her willpower to crumble and she eventually got one of the servants, a maid, to do it.

He shook his head at that. If you want something done, get someone who knows what to do. He knew skills fit for battle, not housekeeping.

Speaking of skills for battle, he tried to make another, more permanent, bonfire, but to his consternation the link actually kept getting shorter and shorter the more he tried. Eventually he gave up trying to retrieve an item after the bonfire extinguished itself seconds after it was lit. Exasperated, he strode to the courtyard, where the familiars were waiting.

Oddly enough, the blue drake, Sylphid (he managed to wrest her name from her after two days of prodding) was extraordinarily shy around him. Where other familiars sought his attention, she actively avoided it. He had to deliberately corner her in order for her to speak to him. Even then she avoided speaking to him for extended periods of time, usually off flying in the sky or hiding. How a drake of all things could hide was beyond him, but considering she was but a child in dragon's years it wasn't unfeasible.

Perhaps she sensed that he had slain several of her own kin in another land in the Guardian Dragons of Dragon's Aerie. Or the fact two powerful draconic souls rested in him, and in his blade. But that didn't explain Flame's relative friendliness towards him; he slew more than his own share of fire salamanders, and Flame still sought him out.

Salamanders however were not the brightest of monsters, possessing great power in exchange for little intellect. Perhaps he simply didn't realize it.

Regardless of the familiars' questionable intellect, he found himself spending far more time around them than his master and her classmates. After sitting in a few of her lectures he came to the disappointing conclusion that the building was not home to a covenant. The magic as they called it was interesting at first, but the magic taught was more suitable to idle, everyday functions, much like his Cast Light sorcery or the Warmth pyromancy. Since he couldn't use them for battle, he ultimately left the lectures altogether, only joining Louise after she finished eating. He would use the time to either meditate or simply explore the grounds. The land was rich and fertile with life not seen in Drangleic.

Long were the times spent in mediation or conversing with the familiars. It was difficult to have such an immense amount of free time. He was always wandering from location to location, and even after he heard Shanalotte's call and made his way to Drangleic, still he relentlessly moved, gathering the Four Great Souls and making his way to the Shrine of Winter, and after that, Drangleic Castle. He simply wasn't suited for staying in a single location.

But the monarch was always fairly adaptable, and eventually stopped restlessly pacing the grounds. Eagerly would he have set into the new world, but every time he made for the gate something in him prevented him from doing so. He suspected it was the master-familiar relationship.

He tried to interact with the other students. He genuinely did; he would approach one and try speaking to them. But they always fidgeted, looked in every direction except his own, and deflected his conversation attempts feebly, like they'd rather be in any location except around him. He could respect that, so eventually he left them alone, surrounding himself with familiars.

He had the Ring of Whispers on almost constantly these days, and he would tell tales of Drangleic, his journey, his allies' stories. He would call forth the souls of those he had slain or the souls that he found, and gave his best stories as the familiars and he look, captivated by the warm glow of the flame-like souls. They would stare in fear at the darker souls of Nashandra, Alsanna, and Elana. Gaze in wonder at the souls of the ineffable.

They, in turn, would provide him with information on their masters, stories of serving under them, what they were and why they must serve.

Blind devotion to such a degree would've sickened him, the way the mindlessly obeyed their master's orders, but after hearing that it was a compulsion he found himself more sympathetic. It reminded him of Hollows, serving a purpose without really knowing why.

It was perhaps the greatest of ironies that the company he found most enjoyable was not in his own kind but in the kind of those who would seek to kill him at all costs in Drangleic.

Eventually Louise forced him to join her in her lectures, saying "A master must not be seen without their familiar!"

He didn't mind, not really. He would simply continue his conversations in the classroom.

He pulled a seat away from an empty desk and sat in it as the familiars crowded around his feet, already clamoring for his attention. He could see the students looking at him uneasily, but he never concerned himself with what others thought.

The room was filled with the sound of the teachers lecturing, and the subtle hum and indistinct voice of the Zero's familiar.

Unbeknownst to him, a girl with flame red hair was eyeing him.

. . . . .

While the Monarch was conversing with familiars, a green haired woman paused in her writing. She looked over to Osmond, sleeping happily.

The smirk she wore should not have belonged to someone of her position.

She rose and uttered the Spell of Tranquility, silencing her footsteps. Carefully as to not wake Osmond, she slipped out of the office.

Her destination was the treasury, located on the floor directly below the Headmaster's Office.

Stepping off the stairs, she confronted enormous iron doors. They were kept shut with a thick bolt mechanism, which in turn was secured with an equally large padlock.

This place was where artifacts dating from even before the Academy's establishment were contained. After cautiously surveying her surroundings, Miss Longueville withdrew her wand from a pocket. It was about the length of a pencil, but with a flick of the wrist, it extended to the length of an conductor's baton, which she whirled expertly.

Miss Longueville cast another spell.

Once the invocation was complete, she pointed the baton at the padlock.

However... nothing happened.

"Well, it's not like I really expected a Spell of Unbinding to work anyway."

Smiling deviously, she began reciting the words to one of her specialty spells.

It was a Transmutation spell. Chanting loud and clear, she waved her baton at the heavy lock. The magic cascaded over it... but even after a considerable wait, there was no visible change.

"Looks like it's been magically reinforced by a Square-class mage," she muttered.

A Spell of Reinforcement was one that prevented the oxidation and decomposition of matter. Any substance that had this spell cast on it was protected from any chemical reactions, and allowed it to be preserved forever in that state. Even transmutation magic would have no effect against something protected like this. Only if one's magical skill surpassed that of the mage who cast the spell could it be overcome.

As it was, the mage who had enchanted this door was apparently an extremely powerful mage, considering that not even Miss Longueville, an expert in Earth magic and transmutation in particular, was able to affect the door.

Taking off her glasses, she stared at the door once more. At this point, she heard footsteps coming up the staircase.

She shrunk down her baton and slipped it back into her pocket.

The person who appeared was Colbert.

"Greetings, Miss Longueville. What are you doing here?"

"Mister Colbert, I was going to catalog the contents of the treasury, but..."

"Oh, that's quite some work. It'd probably take you all day to go over each and every item. There's a lot of junk mixed together with them, and it's a rather cramped space they've been arranged in too."

"Indeed."

"Why don't you just borrow the key from Old Osmond?"

The woman smiled.

"Well... I didn't want to disturb his sleep. In any case, I'm in no immediate hurry to complete the catalog..."

"I see. Sleep, you say. That old man, I mean, Old Osmond, is quite a deep sleeper. It seems I shall have to visit him another time."

Mister Colbert began to walk off, but paused in his tracks, and turned around.

"Err... Miss Longueville?"

"Is something the matter?"

Colbert looked slightly embarrassed as he opened his mouth to speak.

"If it would be all right, how would you like to, say... join me for lunch?"

She took a moment to consider, then smiled brightly as she accepted the offer.

"Sure, it would be my pleasure."

The two of them headed down the stairs.

"Hey, Mister Colbert."

In slightly informal tones, Miss Longueville struck up conversation again.

"Y-yes? What is it?"

Emboldened by how easily his invitation had been taken up, Colbert responded quite eagerly to her.

"Is anything important actually inside the treasury?"

"There is."

"Then, do you know of the 'Staff of Ruin'"?

"That, that is a true oddity."

"So the Staff of Ruin really is there?"

Colbert's lips pulled into a tight frown. "Yes, albeit so securely protected it's nigh impossible for all but the mightiest of mages to release the seal on."

"What can you tell me about it?"

Colbert's lips loosened to be more contemplative. "The Staff of Ruin is, as its name implies, a staff. But it shouldn't be."

"What do you mean?"

"The Staff of Ruin is seemingly dated before Brimir's time."

Fouquet's mind froze. "Before the Founder? That's impossible."

"And yet the Staff of Ruin is evidence otherwise," he sighed. "It's an anomaly unlike any we've ever seen; there isn't any logical explanation for its existence. Some historians speculate that it channels some form of pagan magic; life itself withers when faced with the magic, which we haven't been able to identify. The staff seems… almost alive, just waiting for someone to use the magic dormant within it. Its magic brings only ruin and death to the world; hence, Staff of Ruin."

"Can this staff be seen in any way?"

"Even if someone broke into the vault, it'd be nigh impossible to retrieve the staff itself. The cell that contains it is all but impervious to all magic and physical harm. There's no weakness to it, at least not to my knowledge." He smiled briefly. "You can't miss it when you catalogue the items; the cell is beyond a metal door, unlocked by a key owned by the royal family. We can't really risk someone getting to it, so we've ensured maximum protection."

"Protecting the staff from thieves?"

"No. Trying to protect thieves from the staff. When it was discovered, the team who discovered it all shortly died of unknown circumstances. Their corpses were seemingly wasted away, in advanced stages of decay despite being only a few days old. Since then, some who have experimented with the staff showed immense power, using magic we can describe fairly comfortably as dark, but they all summarily lost their minds and were locked away for their own safety. Many a famed mage has been locked away because they touched the staff."

A stifling silence fell over the two. Magic that toyed with life itself, a pagan magic that went against the Founder's teachings…

Perhaps she should reconsider this heist. No amount of money was worth it.

Colbert shook his head. "never mind that, what would you like to eat? Today's menu is flounder baked in herbs... but I'm quite well-acquainted with Marteau the head chef, and I can have him make any of the world's finest delica-"

"Ahem."

Miss Longueville interrupted Colbert's babbling.

"Y-yes?"

"I must say, the treasury is quite amazingly built. No matter what kind of magic is tried, it would be impossible to open, I assume?"

"That's quite right. It's impossible for just any one mage. After all, it was devised by a group of Square-class mages to resist all spells."

"I'm very impressed that you're so knowledgeable about this, Mister Colbert."

She regarded him with a comfortable expression.

"Eh? Well... Haha, I just happened to come across a lot of documents pertaining to this floor, that's all... I like to consider it a part of my research, haha. Thanks to that, I'm still single at this age... yes."

"I'm sure the woman that you find will be very happy to be with you. After all, you can teach her so much about things that nobody else knows..."

Miss Longueville fixed him with a fascinated look.

"Oh, no! Please don't tease me like that!"

Colbert flustered nervously as he wiped sweat from his balding forehead. Then, regaining composure, he faced her seriously.

"Miss Longueville. Have you heard of the Ball of Frigg that is being held on the day of Yule?"

"No, I haven't."

"Haha, I guess it's because you've only been in Tristain for two months. Well, it's nothing spectacular, just a party of sorts. However, it's said that a couple who dances at this ball will be destined to be together or something like that. It's just a petty legend of course! Yes!"

"So?"

Smiling, she pressed him to continue.

"So... if it would be all right, I was wondering if you would dance with me, yes."

"I would love to. While ball parties are fabulous, I'd like to know more about the treasury right now. I'm quite fascinated by magical items, you see."

Wanting to further impress Miss Longueville, Colbert racked his brains. _Treasury, treasury, she says..._

Remembering something she might find interesting, he put on an important air and started to talk.

"Ah yes, there's one thing I can tell you. Although it's not particularly important..."

"By all means, do tell."

"Certainly, the treasury is invincible against magical attacks, but I believe it has one fatal weakness."

"Oh, that's intriguing."

"That weakness is... physical force."

"Physical force?"

"Yes! For example, well, not that this is ever likely, but a giant golem could-"

"A giant golem?"

Colbert stated his opinion quite proudly to Miss Longueville. And once he was done talking, she couldn't help but smile in satisfaction.

"That was most intriguing indeed, Mister Colbert."

* * *

A/N: I am really fucking sorry about copy pasting pretty much that entire last part from Baka-Tsuki and for the shorter chapter, but there's honestly not much to tell.

Chapter 4 of the LN is focused primarily on Saito's interactions and pranks with Louise, the kitchen staff and their growing reverence of him, and background info on the magical vault and hinting the secretary isn't what she seems.

The Monarch is distant with Louis, to say the least. There's no reason to play pranks on each other and be sarcastic because the Monarch, while understanding the concept (he's well educated and didn't Hollow completely; think Lucatiel in your fourth meeting) has no real reason to be so.

Due to the lightning the staff thinks he's a noble and as such have no real reason to interact with him. The staff also saw heard how the Monarch casually disregarded Louise's life and that made them actually want to AVOID the Monarch, so Siesta isn't likely to have a large role in this story if any at all.

The students still think the Monarch's an Elf (expect this to happen a lot until he lowers the hood) and haven't the spine to tell him he can't eat with them, not that he does anyway.

I did contemplate putting in the Kirche seduction plot in this chapter to make up for some of the lost length, but I'm still contemplating if she even would attempt it; if she did, how would the Monarch react? He's naturally kiss-phobic because of the Desert Sorceresses, and, while knowing of love, can't identify it.

What he felt towards Licia was gratitude, Lucatiel admiration, and Shanalotte... his feelings were confusing to describe. Those three were the most active women in his time in Drangleic, and as such had the largest influence on him.

Also because of him thinking a kiss is a greeting in this land (strange customs mentioned in Chapter 1), he might just shrug off the seduction attempt as a long delayed greeting.

I'm changing the Staff of Destruction because a rocket launcher can't really fly with the Monarch; it's not a magical artifact, being a weapon instead, so I'm making it a certain catalyst from the Dark Souls II verse. Perceptive and savvy players can probably call what it is immediately, but try not to spoil in reviews.


	5. Chapter 5

_He was in a forest._

_Rain, falling. So thick he could barely see in front of him._

_He looked up, the hemp hood and mask covering his face from the worst of it._

_He kept on walking, the broadsword jostling in its sheath on his hip. His old Falconer's armor, comforting in these dark and troubled times in his pack. And his own traveler's garb, long since soaked by rain._

_He had no real fame to his name, his family was hardly famous in his land of knights. Still he had gone through the training, went through the ordeals in a bid to gain fame, if not for his family than for himself. But he wasn't accepted in the Order. The greatsword was denied to him._

_So he decided to roam, joining the Falconers, where he plied his swordsmanship in relentless battles against the cursed. But slowly, inexorably, the Falconers were being overrun; most of their foreign members having contracted the Curse. Eventually its foreign branches were virtually dissolved, the main branch still surviving, still existing in Volgen._

_Chances were very few were willing to leave their cities. There was no cure, no hope for the cursed, and desperately they tried to live, however short of a time remained._

_Not him. He was a wanderer, a traveler. The land beckoned to him, even as it was dying._

_And he was also a knight, however incomplete his right. He'd at least die like one._

_So he kept walking. _

_Then._

_Pain. Incredibly harsh, unforgiving pain like he'd been shot by an arrow in his shoulder blade._

_He stumbled and promptly lost his footing and fell with a splash, trying desperately to focus and not pass out from the sheer amount of pain. _

_He was shivering uncontrollably, then his arm twisted harshly with a jerk. _

_He blinked and everything was so harshly bright it blinded him._

_With a rush, darkness flooded the world and he knew no more._

. . . . .

The monarch blinked, the memory sinking rapidly as the effigy came back into focus. He gazed at it even more intently. This was a chance; the memory of him contracting the Curse. Just a little further back and maybe he could remember his name!

Nothing. No memory swirled forth in his mind. Just the soft, wiry and oddly warm effigy clutched by his fingers. It trembled in barely concealed anger before the wrath dissipated as quickly as it came.

No matter. The start of his Curse was back in his mind after an undeterminable amount of time of having forgotten it. The rest would come in due time.

Sighing, he pushed off the wall he leaned against in the darkened courtyard. He wasn't feeling tired, so after seeing his master to rest he shut the door behind her. To wander the courtyard, yet again. Only his staff this time; no enemies would come to attack the covenant, but he'd be damned before he willingly left behind his staff.

With all his wanderings, he was like the Forlorn. A long departed spirit, seeking home yet lacking a self. Cursed to forever wander the land.

Perhaps it was for that reason he took its armor, scythe, and sword when he slew it. A sign of sympathy to a kindred spirit, a show of respect to a worthy foe. And a gesture, that the Forlorn would live through him, however frail he might be.

But he had more important matters than comparing the lost spirit and himself. He dropped his effigy into its pouch, closing it with a snap. He twirled the Staff of Wisdom against the ground, reflecting on his newly returned memories.

So he was a former Falconer, a mercenary group centered primarily in Volgen. He might've lived there for a time. He left the company to wander the world, his wanderlust getting the better of him.

But he was originally from a realm of knights, with an order that he wished to become a part of, a greatsword its symbol.

He knew of only one such land where it might be relevant.

"Mirrah, huh…"

Perhaps that was why he relished receiving Lucatiel's blade. Perhaps it had been his goal to wield such a weapon, at one point. He had felt such immense satisfaction upon taking the proffered hilt, its owner having lost the will to carry on.

Maybe that also was why he was so skilled in wielding greatswords; he trained with the sole intent of taking one as his weapon. Yet why did he begin his wanderings with a simple broadsword? Surely a bastard sword or claymore would've far more suitable?

He couldn't understand the actions of his past self. Was it scorn? Was it pride?

The tip of his boot tapped against the stone tile before stepping away.

He wandered back to his master's room, intending to sleep on these memories. He lifted his hand to the door when a door behind him opened. Heat assailed his back.

"Hm?" he turned, and saw Flame, its tail emitting a gentle glow not unlike Warmth. It stared unblinkingly at him for a moment. He slipped on the Ring of Whispers. "What is it?"

"Master wants to see you," it spoke, its speech like the crackling of burning embers.

"Kirche, correct? Why?" he asked. He had not associated with Kirche, nor had the student interacted with him much, if at all. He knew she was a fairly deft hand at Pyromancy, but she needed a catalyst to do so. Did she want his help in focusing her inner fire? Why ask him now, instead of tomorrow?

Flame stared at him before biting on his sleeve and tugging him in.

He promptly swatted at the salamander with his staff. "Stop that, you'll set my clothes on fire." It responded by tugging harder, to which he grudgingly allowed to be pulled in. He'd rather not have his clothes catch on fire, not until he could set up a more permanent bonfire and retrieve his other sets of armor.

It was dark in Kirche's room, save the glow of Flame's tail. "The Dark…" he muttered. He wasn't exactly comfortable with dark places. The Gutter was not particularly high on his "places to visit in Drangleic", and neither was the Black Gulch. Who knew what lay in the Dark.

For the first time since he came into the world he called upon his inner flame. This was where someone lived, so sorceries and miracles were largely not an option. Cast Light was equally suited for the task at hand, if he didn't call upon it every now and then it would never get exercised, rendering it pointless. He had no wish to render things pointless; he bled for some of those Fire Seeds, even died for some of them. Damned if he wasn't going to use everything he had.

He held his palm up at his side, and a burning fire flickered into existence in his palm.

"Close the door," a female voice uttered from the darkness. He closed it with his staff, still on alert to the darkness.

"You never said you could use Fire magic," the voice continued. It was getting soft, almost beguiling.

He remained silent.

A sigh. "Keeping quiet, are we?"

A snap of fingers. Candles lit themselves around the room. Instantly he was on high alert, Forbidden Sun bursting into existence. He followed the candles with a sharp gaze, then blinked when nothing happened. The room was lit, but that was the only discernable change.

"My, aren't you high strung."

His eyes flicked to Kirche, who sat with an amused look on her bed.

"Why did you send Flame to get me?" he cut straight to the point. He never danced around the edges.

Another sigh, and she closed her eyes and shook her head. "You certainly have no respect for atmosphere."

Oh he knew atmosphere. A couple lords of areas were incredibly imposing, and had the presence, ability, and strength to back up that atmosphere. The solemn atmosphere of a fight to the death with a loyal guard. The tense atmosphere of an executioner, intending to ride him down on spiked wheels. Atmosphere was feeling an area, feeling the emotion in the air.

The feeling of bowing to a trusted friend and teacher as he rose to his feet, inclining his head in response. The feeling of awe as a burnt king in charred silver armor strode from a wall of flame. The feeling of helplessness as he gazed at the forlorn form of a sitting king. A feeling of humbleness as the great man blessed his crown.

He couldn't really get any atmosphere from this dimly lit room.

A beckon with a crooked finger. "Come here."

The monarch weighed his options. Flame was still next to him, staring at him. Kirche beckoned to him, still on her bed, a smile on her face. He had closed the door, and he knew turning his back on a pyromancer was asking for bad things. He knew; he lost track of some phantom sinners against the Lost Sinner, and promptly got hit with a Forbidden Sun to the back and suffered a fatal stab through the chest. The odds were stacked against him. He slowly went forward, the Forbidden Sun smoldering in his fist.

She patted the bed next to her. "Sit down." He sat next to her, the pyromancy having died out and the heatless flame back to a modest flicker in his palm.

"What is it?" he asked, genuinely curious. If she wasn't going to challenge him, what did she want him for? Teaching? That was something he wasn't sure he could do, but he could certainly nurture her flame, just as Rosabeth did his. In response she just played with her hair, staring at him. Idly he wondered how much he had been stared at, and the thought brought a slight quirk to his lips.

The red haired girl sighed for a longer time, then shook her head again. "You must think me lowly and despicable."

He frowned. "Why would I think that?" While she hadn't interacted with him, she was hardly comparable to Creighton, the only one who truly earned his ire. He idly watched Pate kill him, and had he been anyone else he would've interfered. Pate may have tricked him, but never outright murdered anyone, let alone took pride in it. He was hardly a gleeful murderer.

"My runic name is 'Ardent'," she continued.

Ardent. Passionate, or burning like flame. It rather suited her, frankly.

"So it is."

"My lust is as flammable as hay... that's why I suddenly called you here. Don't you get it? Isn't this really bad of me?"

Was it? He thought on the question. He couldn't really answer that; he never lusted nor was on the receiving end on it.

"And?" he prodded.

"I'm sure you'll forgive me."

Immediately his suspicion rose. "Forgive what?" Was she intending to attack him? But why would she forewarn him?

She reached out suddenly and clasped his hand. His heart beat quickly. Could he react in time should she choose to attack him? How could he let his guard down so easily?

But he couldn't well attack her, not now in the middle of the covenant!

"Loving you, my dear. Loving you is just that sudden."

His mind ground abruptly to a halt. Love?

_"Others…" a wistful chuckle. "Chase the charms of love, however elusive."_

A voice of many floated to the top of his consciousness.

He studied her. She certainly seemed serious, if the flushed face was any indication.

"The allure of the unknown… so unlike my fellow students… can you blame me for being attracted to the unknown?"

No, no he certainly could not. He could feel excitement at the very thought of the unknown; it was one of the reasons why he left the Falconers in the first place, to see new lands with his sword and his earned experience in his hand. He could not fault her for being lured to the unknown.

"That undeniable allure made me fall in love the moment I saw you. Can you believe it? I was attracted to you just like that! Passion! Oh, this is a passionate love!"

He raised an eyebrow. Well, she certainly lived to her name then.

"Passionate indeed."

"I've been writing love songs since that day! Love songs! Just for you... You appear in my dreams every night, so I told Flame to see how you're doing... oh, I'm so embarrassed. You must think that too, am I right? But it's all because of you!"

His eyebrow shot up even further. Many a bard sung of love, tales of romance spun by the fire. He'd never experienced it for himself.

A novel experience for him, experiencing something you never had.

He sat there, silent, contemplating this abrupt confession. Aldia had noted that some Hollows fought for love, seeking it. No one he encountered in his journey had ever sought romantic love; they were always more focused on surviving.

Yet another path in life open to him he never got to take, consumed as he was by the Curse.

She reached up and lowered his cowl. He did not fight her. Her arms fell to encircle his shoulders. He did not resist.

Closing her eyes, she leaned in, intending to meet his lips with her own.

A thought struck him then. He raised a hand and gently pushed her back, intending a question. She opened her eyes and looked at him, surprised.

"You are so in love with me you would not even ask my name? That seems… somewhat shallow," he thought. The ballads had always made clear the lovers knew the other's name, and while he knew hers, she did not know his.

She flushed a deep red. "Yeah... I guess I have more... passion than others. That can't be helped. Love is sudden, and it burns my body so quickly..."

At that moment, a voice from outside the window interrupted her.

A young boy looked inside indignantly.

"Kirche... I came to check because you weren't there on time..."

"Berisson! We'll meet two hours later then!"

"That wasn't what we agreed on!" They were on the third floor. Oh, the flying spell from his entrance in the world… he never got to inquire as to what it was.

Kirche nonchalantly took out her catalyst from between her breasts, and waved it without even looking at him. Flame shot out from a nearby lamp and flew into the boy at the window like a snake.

"What an annoying owl."

The monarch raised an eyebrow.

"Ah… you didn't hear that, did you?" What sort of question was that? He was sitting right next to her, of course he would hear it.

"Who was that?" he asked. From the obviously familiar attitude of the boy to her, he was familiar to her. Was he trespassing on another's territory? That wasn't good; the stories never painted those who betrayed on their beloved in a positive light.

"Oh, just a friend."

Well, it was possible he was just concerned over a forgotten meeting; love could make you do that, if it was so powerful. Still…

He hesitantly reached for his cowl. "Am I intruding on someone?" he asked nervously. He had never ventured in love before; he wasn't aware of what to do in situations like these!

"No, of course you aren't!" she pulled him back down. "Right now, my deepest, most passionate love is you…"

Kirche approached him with her lips again. He relaxed slightly.

At that moment, they were interrupted again.

A sharp-looking man peered into the room with a sad face.

"Kirche! Who is that guy? Aren't you going to heat up the night with me?"

"Styx! How does four hours later sound?"

"Who is that guy, Kirche?"

This Styx guy was getting mad, he could tell, and as he was about to enter the room, Kirche waved her wand again. The fire flew from the lamp again, hit the man, and sent him to the ground.

"...I take that he's your friend too?"

"Instead of 'friend', let's just say that I've only heard of him. Oh well, I don't want to waste our time. Whoever said 'the night is long' didn't know how quickly the sun rises."

Kirche drew near the monarch again. And again, a groan came from the window. The two turned to face it.

Three men looked inside, and said the same thing at the same time.

"Kirche! Who the hell is this?! You said you don't have any lovers!"

"Manican! Ajax! Gimli!"

Five associates… perhaps I really am intruding, he thought worriedly.

"Well... six hours later then," Kirche waved irritably.

"That's in the morning!" the three said in unison.

"Flame." Kirche casually ordered her salamander, who was sleeping in the corner. Flame sent a blaze towards the three men at the window, and they fell to the ground together.

"And those are...?"

"Them? I don't even know them. But, most of all, I love you!"

Kirche held his face with her hands and went straight for his lips.

He pondered on it. It wasn't draining and weakening, like the desert sorceresses. It wasn't quick and filled with scorn like his master's. It felt…

…rather nice, as a matter of fact. Heedless of the guard he was willingly tossing aside, he closed his eyes and embraced it.

They fell back, still locked together.

. . . . .

He woke up. The sofa was really soft… too soft, actually. He eyed the room. It was a soft violet, and the 'sofa' was white instead of the purple he came to associate it with.

And his arm was being held by someone. He turned back to see Kirche.

Ah… that's right. She had brought him to her room and confessed to him.

He thought on that, that abrupt confession out of nowhere. He had never loved, nor had he ever been loved. He was always more intent on seeing the world in Drangleic, and serving his master here.

But… he was alive now, unbound by the Curse. He could do… whatever he wished.

Kirche stirred, before rising to stretch. "Good morning, beloved."

He dipped his head. "Good morning."

She ran a finger down her cheek. "'Beloved', while sounding nice, isn't practical to call you in public. What is your name?"

He fidgeted. "I… don't remember."

She stopped and looked shocked. "Wait, what? You don't remember your own name?"

He nodded hesitantly. "Yes. It, along with the majority of my history, is not known to me."

Kirche looked at him, and he couldn't help but be uncomfortable. "Then… what do you know about yourself?"

The monarch quickly ran that request through his brain. It was… normal, to tell the beloved your innermost thoughts, right? And if they were to enter a relationship, she should know, right?

"I grew up aspiring to be a knight… I think. From birth I held a sword. I trained relentlessly, wanting nothing more to hold the greatsword of the Order. But… I failed. I left the land in disgrace, holding only my sword. I roamed the land as a sellsword and guard. A mercenary group, the Falconers, took notice of my skill and recruited me, where I took a number of jobs." He wasn't really sure on any of that, but as the Falconers were mercenaries, he had to have taken a job or two to remain in the group, let alone get a uniform.

"And then?" Kirche prodded. She was drinking it in, enraptured by his story. She was learning things that no one else in the school knew about the enigmatic mage. A knight-mage, like the famous heroes of legend. And she had one as her lover!

"And then I…" he faltered. Could she know about the Curse? Did he _want_ her to know about the Curse?

Fortunately, he was spared that decision by the bang of the door slamming open.

His master, in all her fury stormed towards them. For once, he could not be happier. "Ah, master."

She, however, ignored him to focus on the girl next to him, who was smirking triumphantly.

"KIRCHE!" she howled angrily. He leaned back into the bed, having forgotten his master's formidable voice. She had been subdued for the week since he had been called; for such an abrupt resurface meant she found her motivation again. Excellent, he had no wish to be subordinate to a weak willed child.

A slender arm raised and flicked a hand dismissively. "Good morning, Vallière."

"Zerbst! What are you doing with my familiar?!"

Kirche spread her arms. "Love and fire are the Zerbst family's destiny. It's a fate that burns in our bodies. It is our lifelong goal to embrace this passionate flame. You should know that." Kirche shrugged, while Louise shook in anger.

"Come here, familiar," she commanded. She even stomped her foot a little.

"Oh? Louise, he is indeed your familiar, but he has his own will too, don't you think? Please respect his choice." Kirche said at the side. Expectantly, they both turned to him. One had fire in her eyes, and the other looked confidently at him.

The monarch's brain was running at a million miles an hour. Duty, or love. Duty or love. A choice many a hero had to face; he never thought he would have to face it himself! What do the stories say?

Love is stronger than duty. It's more important than duty.

His lips hardened in a line, and he shook his head. Louise's mouth fell open, and Kirche giggled by his side. "There, his choice has been made. He chooses me over you."

"You'll be run through by ten different nobles the moment she's seen with you! Can you accept that?!" she raised her voice.

Kirche glanced at her. "You know he's not helpless. Even if he was, I would help him." She smiled at him.

Louise's eyes grew wet, and she turned and ran from the room.

Hesitantly, he stood and tossed his cowl back up.

Kirche peered at him. "Leaving so soon?"

"I still have a duty to her; she did call me here," he reasoned. With that he turned and jogged after her.

Kirche sighed and got up as well. "No matter; I've already stolen him from Louise." She giggled slightly.

Kirche paused in her dressing, a thought fleeting through her mind. "Wait, I didn't see any pointed ears… he isn't an Elf…"

She frowned. "Then what is he?"

. . . . .

Louise slammed the door behind her, expecting a slam.

Instead, the wood slammed into a hand that promptly pushed it open. Pushing his way into her room was her fam- Kirche's new boyfriend.

"Master-"

"GET OUT!" she shrieked. She didn't care he had enough power to make students tremble if he so much as looked at them, she didn't care that he had almost killed her, she didn't want to even look at him!

"Be reasonable," his calm voice cut through the haze in her mind. "I am simply pursuing love."

"What she offers isn't love!" she shouted.

"She confessed to me."

"She didn't mean it!"

He faltered at that. "Didn't she?"

Louise paused, the sight of her familiar looking suddenly vulnerable not at all suiting him. Then she thought critically. Kirche was, at the very least, loving, but how long she loved differed from individual from individual. She didn't want her familiar to be reject-

Wait, why should she care about him? Why did she react so ferociously?

Then the answer was clear to her. He was her property, her familiar. She didn't let others touch her belongings.

But, he was a noble, of that there was no doubt. He was as much of a human as anyone here.

She sighed. "Fine. If you want to go out with someone I won't stop you. Go out with anybody you like. But, no matter what, you must not go out with that woman."

He frowned. "And why not?"

"First, Kirche isn't a Tristainian; she's a noble from neighboring Germania. Just that makes going out with her completely unacceptable. I hate Germanians."

"How did you expect me to know that?" he asked. She ignored him.

"My house, Vallière, has estates on Germania's borders, so we're the first on the field against Germanians the moment any war starts. Even worse, right opposite to us on that border is Kirche's birthplace." Louise bit down hard on her teeth. "So basically, the Zerbst family is our sworn enemy."

"How does that work?"

"The Zerbst constantly slanders the Vallière. My great-great-grandfather's fiancé was stolen away because of that."

"Pardon?"

"My great-great-grandfather's! His wife was taken away just like that."

"I see...so basically, this is all because your family lost a lover to Kirche's family?" Love was truly a most dangerous battlefield. Grudges made over the word were not to be taken lightly.

"Not just that. We've lost count of how many family members we've lost from the wars." A far more sensible and understandable reason to hold a grudge. Still, actually being stolen?

"It's not like I'm worth being stolen… right?"

"No. I will not let Kirche steal a single bird. I'll shame my ancestors if that happens." With that, Louise poured a glass of water, and downed it in a single impressive gulp. "That is why Kirche's forbidden."

"Your ancestors have nothing to do with me."

"Yes they do! You're my familiar, right? As long as you eat from the Vallière family, you are to follow my orders."

"I haven't been really eating from your family though," he pointed out.

"I have been sheltering you and allowing you to eat the food from the same table as me. I think you should thank me," she continued, her anger not having fully dissipated.

"Why?"

"If word got out you became Kirche's lover, how do you think the students would react?"

"Is this about them harming me? Do you think they can?" Abruptly he became serious. Had he been underestimating them because they were students? Were they truly valid threats? If so, he may need to start carrying his full arsenal…

"Well… no…" Louise conceded. She didn't really have any reason other than that, and he was making it abundantly clear that he was going to pursue her, whether she liked it or not.

"Hm, if it's that much of a worry to you I should start carrying my weapons…" he muttered.

Alarmed, Louise shot in, "No! No, that isn't necessary!"

He fixed her with a level gaze. "Let me carry my sword then."

She bit her lip. "Not the large one," she conceded. She placed an unofficial ban on carrying anything other than his staff and the odd chimes he had on him when he first arrived. The massive bow and both swords were to be locked in her room.

"Adequate," he responded. He reached over, picked the sword in the white sheath up, and strapped it to his hip.

The sun was starting to fill the room, and chatter was starting to fill the halls. Louise looked over at him.

"Familiar, we should head to class."

"Very well, master."

"Please, call me Louise." She wouldn't let Kirche get that far ahead of her.

"Very well… Louise."

* * *

A/N: I legitimately wasn't expecting the Kirche route, of all things, to open. I just let the story flow and this happened. Whether or not the relationship actually lasts is entirely on the story.

Why didn't Louise seek him out sooner? She is used to the Monarch randomly leaving her room and doing his own thing. Also he wasn't there to wake her up, so she got up to look for him. She wasn't expecting him to have gone into Kirche's room and only entered because she heard him talking. Then she got angry.

The Monarch is absolutely unfamiliar with love and has no idea what to do when faced with it but draw on what he knows; which are stories. I picture Drangleic as a very bright and peaceful kingdom before the curse; in fact, I pictured Anor Londo as much of the same. The world is content until the Curse appears, then we sink into familiar Dark.

The story is bright only so much as the Light and Sun is. Don't picture this story to be excessively dark, but don't expect it to be excessively bright either. Flame flickers.

I am sorry for the week long delay. I am preoccupied with real life matters and haven't had the chance to read.

If the story seems too close to canon, it's because I don't see a point in changing what happens in canon too vastly; dialogue is still gonna remain the same, and only the situation is gonna change due to differences. It's a butterfly effect, these "Louise summons X" stories, and there's no real reason to change much dialogue and actions from canon, if at all.


	6. Chapter 6

As it turns out, the bustle of students were simply them leaving for a free day, a Day of the Void, as a servant told him when he saw the students actually leaving the bounds of the school. Louise nearly slapped herself when she remembered.

"How could I have forgotten today was the Day of the Void?" she bemoaned herself.

The monarch debated silently on what to do, before wandering away.

"Familiar, where are you going?" she asked.

"To meditate. Care to join me?" he responded idly, already making for the tree in the courtyard.

"…all right." She trudged after him, wondering what he was going to meditate on. "Why do you need to meditate?"

"To focus my sorceries- I suppose you call them magics, and connect myself with the land," he responded. He gave her a look that even with his cowl up seemed to ask 'Why do you need to know this?' "My magics come from the land itself, and I must regularly attune myself to it in order to maintain my power."

He was genuinely confused. Did she not attune herself to the land prior to casting spells? That was how sorceries functioned; you required a stable link to the land in order to cast spells. It didn't matter if you could recite the spell from scratch, if the spell in question was not linked to your soul then it would not cast.

And he had numerous spells, so he had to think deeply on what spells he would use. He was powerful enough, fortunately, that his magics were strong enough to obliterate most foes he encountered; rare were the times he needed to draw his blade or change them.

Louise's mind froze. What her familiar was describing was beginning to be suspiciously similar to Firstborn magic. "And how do you 'focus' your sorceries?" she asked slowly.

Her familiar sat underneath a tree, unstrapping the sword from his hip and placing it at his side, folding his legs and placing the staff across his knees in a single smooth motion that looked long practiced. He was silent for a moment before responding. "I merely focus. There is no other way."

"No contracts or the like?"

"None. So long as I know the spell I need not form a contract with any being."

Louise frowned. His magic, his "sorceries", was seemingly in between both elven magic and Brimir's magic. But it shouldn't be possible to mix the two; no such magic existed. Since he had a staff, it was more Brimiric magic than anything else.

While she thought on the ramifications of her familiar having access an advanced form of Brimiric magic, the monarch extended an offer.

"Would you like to learn it? I sense potential." Technically true; he couldn't exactly "teach" her because sorcery can't be taught; at best they could explore sorcery, much like he and Carhillion did.

"I've never been able to learn any magic though," she said hesitantly, although she was feeling a growing interest. Maybe through this she could finally cast magic.

"I see. Then from this day on, you shall be my pupil. Oh come now," he said, looking at the surprise on her face. "I am patient. If you cannot learn the most basic of sorceries, then we will give up. But we will not give up without trying. I knew nothing of magic and I picked it up; surely you with your magical background is more than capable of learning a few sorceries."

He may have been laying it on a bit thick, but for an inexplicable reason he wished to see Louise succeed. He noted that he used the same words Carhillion told him long ago on a wooden dock overlooking dark water.

Ah, and Louise looked a bit more confident now. Good, good.

He reached around in his pack lying against the tree and carefully selected a scroll. He unrolled it sedately and looked at it. Soul Spear. Too advanced; he'd have to start basic. He dug around deeper at the bottom, looking for the most elementary of all sorceries.

"Ah, here. Try casting this," he unrolled a scroll, and upon seeing what it was handed it to the fidgeting girl next to him.

"What is it?"

"Soul Arrow, the most basic of all sorceries. The first spell many sorcerers learn. I take it you know what to do if you know magic." He closed his eyes and sunk into the blank state that he had developed when staring into the flames of a bonfire. He couldn't fully attune himself and switch out spells, but it was calming, soothing.

Louise, in the meantime, was chewing her lip as she looked at the scroll. It was written in a language that she didn't know, something beyond her comprehension. This was the most basic spell he had, the first one he learned?

She couldn't help but feel inadequate comparing the two of them.

. . . . .

Kirche, in the meantime, bustled out of her room feeling livelier than ever.

She had brought her ancestors joy by stealing something from the Vallière. It was only a matter of time before he shook off any residual loyalties to Louise and pledged himself wholly to her.

Her walk brought her to Louise's room. She knocked and waited patiently for her new lover to open the door. _He'll open the door, and I'll kiss him_, she thought. _I wonder what Louise'll do when she sees that?_

A minute passed though and nothing happened. So she tried to enter by force. It was locked. She, without giving the fact that it was against the rules on campus, promptly cast a spell of unlocking and was summarily rewarded with a quiet click.

No one greeted her, unfortunately. Kirche's gaze swept across the room, muttering "Tasteless as always, Louise."

Louise's backpack was there, however, along with a wide array of weaponry that could only belong to him.

So they were still on campus, good. The campus would be fairly empty today due to the Day of the Void, so it should be a simple matter to find them.

Still, time looking for them was time not spent with him.

Turning, Kirche headed from the empty room, closing the door behind her and relocked it.

. . . . .

Tabitha was quietly reading. A youthful looking girl, shorter even than Louise and seemingly younger than most other students. But she didn't really care as to what other people thought of her. All she cared about was her reading.

So, naturally, she was bothered by an abrupt hammering on her door.

Almost absently, she raised her staff and cast the Spell of Tranquility, returning her room to its blissful quiet.

Her door was burst open then, and she deigned to give the intruder a look. It was Kirche, her friend. She was going on about something, but due to the spell she couldn't speak. Her gaze returned to her book.

That was taken away by Kirche who also grabbed her shoulders to forcefully face her. Tabitha was keeping a neutral expression, but an astute observer would note the unwelcoming, chilly gaze that she was giving the busty red head.

Had Kirche been anyone else Tabitha would've blown them through the door with a cyclone. But, Kirche was her friend, and she was obligated to help her friend. Defeated, she canceled the spell and was greeted with an outpouring of noise.

"Tabitha! I need your help!"

"Day of Void," was the soft reply given. It was enough in her eyes, and she tried to take back her book. Kirche, in response, stood up and held it up. There was simply no way for the short Tabitha to overcome the height difference.

"Yes, I know how much the Days of Void mean to you. But now's not the time! I'm in love! It's love! Do you get it now?"

No, she didn't. She shook her head.

One was driven by passion, the other by cool logic. Outsiders would wonder how people on such different wavelengths could ever be friends, but opposites attract.

"Right… you won't understand until I explain. All right, he went out with Louise! They're on campus, and I want to know where they are as soon as possible! Do you get it now?" No, because how was that related to her?

"Your familiar interacts with him on a regular basis! Surely it would know where they are right?" Tabitha finally nodded. The enigmatic youth Sylphid actually wanted to avoid… yes, he'd likely be in…

"Courtyard," was the whisper.

Kirche finally left the room, handing back the book. Tabitha quietly returned to her reading.

The man who unsettled Sylphid to the point of actively avoiding him…

A dragon as intelligent as Sylphid would not avoid just anyone for no reason. Her friend might be in danger.

Silently, the Snowstorm rose to her feet and began following Kirche, however reluctantly. She had to keep her friends out of trouble.

. . . . .

The thief known as Fouquet, alternatively "The Crumbling Dirt" made every noble in Tristain paranoid with fear in a matter of years.

The North had a jeweled crown stolen. The South had a staff bestowed as a family treasure, and had its walls broken down to be taken. In the East, none of the rings from the White Islands remained in any mansion whose owners bought those rings. The West had a priceless aged wine stolen. The thief was simply everywhere.

Fouquet would either stealthily infiltrate the mansion to outright breaking in. Either in broad daylight or the dead of night, the royal mages could not catch him.

The nobles were not stupid, and after learning of the use of alchemy to turn walls to dirt and sand tried solidifying everything in an attempt, but Fouquet was simply too powerful, too strong and easily overcame their enchantments. That was the stealthy way.

If Fouquet was particularly bold, a 30-mail tall golem was used. It shattered walls and tossed aside guards and let the thief take his prizes in broad daylight.

No one, despite the infamy of the thief, had ever seen the thief up close. The public wasn't even sure if he really was a man or a woman. What was known was that Fouquet was at least Triangle class, left behind insulting notes, and targeted treasures or artifacts of great magical power.

So it was natural he would target the Academy of Magic.

He spent a number of months gaining trust, and learned of the powerful Staff of Ruin.

But now, he was reconsidering, reflecting on the info he was given.

"No, I'm this far. I won't back down."

. . . . .

In the courtyard, Kirche had found the two of them in seconds, her lover quietly sitting under a tree and Louise biting her lip, reading a scroll in frustration.

"Beloved~!" she called out, practically skipping to his side.

To her consternation, he didn't respond, but Louise did. She jerked abruptly, then in a flurry of motion was on her feet.

"Zerbst! Why are you here?"

Kirche tossed her head back. "I came to see my lover, of course."

"Too bad; he's meditating."

Kirche eyed him. He was inert, still sitting, still tranquil amidst the storm happening right in front of him. Her eyes flicked back to Louise. "Leave. Now," a snarl.

"Jealousy is unbecoming, Vallière!" she sang.

"Who's jealous?!"

"You are! I so easily snatched away your familiar!"

Tabitha watched the bickering with a tired gaze. She gazed curiously at the cloaked youth, eyes still closed. This was the person Sylphid wanted to avoid? As she watched him, he stirred, before his eyes slid open.

"Have you finished learning the sorcery Louise?"

"No! I can't understand it!" Louise spun, frustration from her lack of progress leaking into her voice.

"Of course you can't, Zero," Kirche said mockingly. She reached out and plucked the scroll from Louise's fingers and scanned it, expecting to see a somewhat complex spell. Louise was magically untalented, but she was a hard worker and the theory behind magic came easily to her, just not magic itself.

What greeted her eyes were runes not in any language she knew. The writing seemed ancient, the script tiny. She stared at it, flummoxed. "What… is this?"

"Soul Arrow, the most basic of my spells," he said, rising to his feet. "You can't understand it, you say?"

"No, I can't even read it," Louise responded petulantly, but more than a little frustrated. At the very least she could read magic! But to completely not understand what a basic spell was… it was an insult to her very being as a noble.

"A language barrier, perhaps? I did study in a land different from this one…" he mused idly.

"Where did you study then?" Kirche asked, eager to get any info on her lover.

"Drangleic," he responded, taking the scroll from her. He eyed her. "I'd offer to teach you as well, but knowing your magic style I know something a little more suited."

"Oh?" Kirche responded, a smile lifting her lips. _I've never heard of Drangleic before_… she thought.

He nodded. "Pyromancy. It should come naturally to you; simply abandon your catalyst."

Kirche stared at him. "But… no mage can cast without a focus."

"I will show you otherwise." With that, flame crackled in his fist, before he lashed his hand out in a vicious backhand skyward. With a roar, a crackling fireball that exceeded his height rushed out and soared high into the air before exploding. Trails of flame and burning embers drifted downward. Kirche and Louise started before staring at him.

He gazed calmly back. "A pyromancer's flame is part of his body. It develops along with his skill," he recited from a text. "It is a precious thing, often to be nurtured over an entire lifetime," he raised his hand as he did so, the girls looking at the heatless flame burning in his palm. "I am willing to teach you, provided you are willing to learn."

"Yes," Kirche responded without hesitation.

He cupped a hand over the flame and detached a small flame. It hovered above his fingers. He held it out to her, and Kirche took it as if a wayward breeze might blow it out. "It feels... familiar somehow," she said, her hand closing over the fire and feeling its warmth. Like holding out a hand near a fireplace, it was warm and comforting.

Unbeknownst to the monarch, her fire burned ever brighter for him. "When a flame is shared, it creates an eternal bond between the parties. You have the tool, you have the aptitude. Let's begin."

And with that her fire for him burst into an inferno.

"I want to learn too!" Louise cut in.

The two looked at her. One scoffed. "Louise, you can barely cast Fire magic even with a wand; this is advanced stuff."

The other gazed at her contemplatively. "Flame does not require anything particular. However, I believe you are more suited to sorcery. Try harder to learn Soul Arrow." He proffered the scroll, and Louise took it with a trembling hand.

The monarch turned to Kirche and said, "We'll start basic. Try Fireball."

. . . . .

Kirche had taken to pyromancy relatively poorly, but her zeal for it was unmatched. The Fireball was weak and would be embarrassing to even call it so, but he attributed it to her dependence on her catalyst. Using his Flame would be easier, with time.

It was… fitting that he share his Flame with her, right? They did share a bond, so why not go to that level? The monarch fidgeted. He was not used to this romance stuff, but he had read that a hero of legend, a saint of fire, had shared a Flame with one of the original pyromancers, and they shared an unshakeable bond.

Louise had ambitiously taken to learning Soul Arrow. She certainly did not lack intelligence to learn, she just… didn't understand. He was teaching her Drangleic language, albeit slowly. Learning a language was difficult, he knew from the book he himself was reading. It was a simple spellbook, and next to it was a scrap of paper with Louise's alphabet and the Drangleic equivalent.

It was a painstaking process to check the scrap every time, but it was his first step in learning the new sorceries that waited for him to unlock in this land.

The three of them were sitting in Louise's room, night having fallen and students returning destroyed any concept of privacy they might have held. A strange girl, one he'd never seen before was silently reading on Louise's bed. He'd tried to speak with her, but she ignored him. He had come to accept that, and returned to his learning.

Or tried to; Louise and Kirche were bickering about something in the background. Completely unknown to the both of them, the monarch and the blue haired girl both plugged their ears.

"Hey." Kirche turned to Louise.

"What?"

"Guess it's time to get this over with."

"Hmm… you're right."

"I really hate you, you know?"

"Same to you."

"We think quite alike." Kirche smiled and raised a brow.

Louise, too, defiantly stuck her chin up.

"Let's duel!" They shouted in unison.

_Duel_? The monarch shot to attention. He turned reflexively to see the challengers. Kirche and Louise were grinding their foreheads against each others'. "Is that… necessary?" he asked hesitantly.

They continued with their stare, completely ignoring him. In unison, they brandished their catalysts.

Only to have the blue haired girl flick her staff even faster, blowing away both their wands in a gust of wind. He narrowed his eyes. Her casting speed was incredible, surpassing even his own. He had to charge the spell, however minor of a delay it was. Her casting was nearly instantaneous, and was something he did not want to test his magic against.

"Indoors," she simply said.

Not the most ideal of places to have a duel. The wider the location, the better. This enclosed room would be a nightmare to face a phantom in.

Louise angrily muttered, "And who is this? She has been sitting on my bed since-"

"She's my friend," countered Kirche.

"And why is your friend in my room?"

Kirche stared. "Is that a problem?"

"Hmmph."

They glared at each other before rising to their feet. "Location?" Louise challenged. Referring to their duel, no doubt.

"Really? Do you really want to fight me in a magical duel?" Kirche goaded.

"Inadvisable," the monarch cut in. The girls turned to him. "Louise, if you are having difficulty with magic, it is not advisable to face Kirche in a magical duel."

"I can't lose to a Zerbst!" Louise cried out in anger.

Kirche, meanwhile, smirked. "Even your familiar thinks so lowly of your abilities."

Louise exploded.

. . . . .

Fouquet had been glaring, annoyed, at the wall. Fortunately she was spared further thought by the sensation of footsteps. She leapt to the ground, whispered "Spell of Levitation", landed like a feather and disappeared into the bushes.

The footsteps were Louise, Kirche, Tabitha, and the monarch.

"You two are really going to duel?" he asked. Duels so young… perhaps the school was not as soft as he thought they had been. Still, it would be unique to be challenged by an ally. Aside from a rare friendly phantom the vast majority had been invaders.

"Yes," Louise said primly.

"Isn't it a bit too dangerous?" Something in him made him speak up about their safety. Perhaps it was Louise's youthful appearance or the obvious gap in their skill, but something in him didn't want either of them to be hurt too much. Duels were for the hardened soldier, those who went to bathe in others' blood, or those who delivered justice. They were never issued lightly.

"Yes it is."

"So whoever gets injured is the idiot."

The blue haired girl stepped forward and whispered something in Kirche's ear. She seemed to think on it before whispering to Louise. She, in turn, frowned as said, "He's a noble though."

The three of them fell silent before their gazes flicked to a battered wall at the base of the main tower. A practice wall; any lasting damage to it was restored by the school's earth mages. It was an odd sight, a single upright wall in a courtyard, but it would suffice for the challenge at hand.

. . . . .

The monarch looked tiredly at them. He'd like to return to his studies, thank you.

This was perhaps the tamest duel he had ever seen. Instead of actually harming each other, like most duels he was familiar with, they had instead agreed to see who could deal the most damage to a wall.

The blue haired girl next to him was still reading. Both of them sat patiently on the grass, one having her staff nestled in her arm and the other resting it across his knees.

"Here's how we'll settle this. The one who deals the most damage to that wall wins the right to your familiar."

Louise nodded. "Got it."

"You can use any spell you like. You can go first… my treat."

The monarch pulled out an effigy and gazed into it. Maybe more memories would return to him. He gazed deep into it and the world faded to black.

. . . . .

_An ogre had been troubling Lord Aldia's keep, and his branch had been hired to take care of it. Three of them circled it, while a hunter and a lone mage had their bow and catalyst pointed at it. The monster had swung at them with large, clumsy swings, and the Falconers leapt at the chance when it lost its balance and fell over. Immediately the three were hacking away with sword, lance, and axe. Iron tipped arrows flew from the long bow with deadly accuracy as did several Soul Arrows._

_He adjusted his two handed grip on his broadsword as it spun onto its belly and rose. No matter what they did its tough hide easily took the blows. But every monster had a weakness, and barring all of them collapsing from exhaustion they'd take it down like all the other monsters they'd defeated._

_His band of Falconers were equal to a regular band of Forossan Lion Knights, and even had some members amongst it after Forossa's collapse months ago. They'd taken every job their scouter had brought to them and they'd done their job well._

_Still, even in spite of having an experienced Northwarder as well as a veteran Lion Knight in their motley band an ogre was still a tough and troublesome opponent._

_They prepared for another long dance._

_. . . . ._

_"Captain?"_

_He looked up. "What is it?"_

_They had just completed the contract and got the payment from Lord Aldia. He seemed unperturbed at the ogre's destruction and waved them through the door. He was a tall, gaunt man much like his younger brother, dressed from head to toe in black velvet. Something about the estranged lord unnerved all of his band and they left swiftly, making their way back to Volgen.  
_

_"Penny for your thoughts?" the newbie smiled crookedly at him._

_"Pate, was it?" A nod. "Hm. Well, I'm afraid my thoughts aren't too interesting."_

_"Indulge me anyway. You seem to be eying that ring; I'm assuming you've got a lady waiting for you back home?"_

_He smiled thinly. "Yes, from one of my travels in the east." He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, the thin silver band and small ruby seeming out of place in what most would replace with gold or diamond. But neither she nor he were particular fond of decadence, usually idling their time away in modesty. _

_"What about you? Got anyone you care for?"_

_Pate shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not quite so lucky. The only ring I have is one given to me for following Kremmel."_

_"The god of struggle? How… ironic," he mused._

_"Yes, well, everyone can use a little safeguard in this land. Why not bid on protection from the one giving the struggle in the first place?" Pate gave a wry grin._

_He chuckled. "Good point."_

_A shout from one of the rookies got their attention. A man dressed in the garb of a Mirrahian soldier (his lips curved sharply downward at the reminder of his birthland) was waving an axe at the two of them. He could tell he was a rookie because he wasn't wearing the uniform. Eenu usually handled the recruits, not him in spite of being captain. He was only captain of this band because he was the most skilled._

_Pate sighed. "I suppose I might as well humor him. Creighton," he added at his look. "He's taken quite a liking to me and likes to spar with me. I might as well go and humor him for a while." With that, he rose, grabbing a blunt practice spear and walking to meet Creighton._

_Pate was one of their more experienced members; a veteran mentoring a rookie was commonly how things went. It pleased him that friendships were being made in his group. He turned away from the crackling campfire and faced the forest, his broadsword ever at his side._

_. . . . ._

Tabitha watched the enigma out of the corner of her eye. His expression was glazed slightly, but he was more interesting than listening to Louise shouting in triumph and Kirche's cries of "I miscalculated!"

. . . . .

_He opened the wooden door to the familiar sight of the disheveled home. Not that either of them actively made it messy, but when both of them were travelers that tended to happen. And, as it happened, she was already here, judging from her two eastern swords on their place on the mantle._

_The calm, sedate, familiar sound of scuffed leather heels against the stone floor made him smile and he waited patiently for her to turn the corner._

_He saw her hair first; long and fiery red, tied in a high ponytail and flowing messily down her back. The flowing skirt of a desert sorceress whisped along the ground. He was confident she wore that maybe partly because it was light and comfortable, but also because it wasn't easy for her to abandon the garb she seduced him in._

_She turned her head to him, her orange-red eyes glimmering._

_They embraced, having no need for words._

_"I'm back, Natsumi."_

_She smiled. It was a sort of custom to greet each other with their name, just like they had done when they first met in the Far East. "Welcome home, Tayrr."_

* * *

A/N: Background on the Monarch, and the reveal of his name. I did say it wasn't going to be a grand reveal, remember?

Tay-yurr, if you're curious as to the pronunciation. I literally just pulled it out of the depths of my mind. I went as generically eastern as I could think of in terms of Natsumi, and I didn't want an anime connection in Akemi (which is what her name was in beta) or Asuka. And yes, these types of name do exist: Quelana, Domhnall, Einygi, Lautrec... Oscar.

I was at a complete loss as to what to do for this chapter, because it was the chapter Saito gets Derf, which has no reason to happen since Tayrr has all his stuff. So I half merged it with the Fouquet chapter (no, I'm not even going to pretend none of you know who she is; I referred to her as a 'he' because that's what Tristain knows.

I'll be frank, I'm not at all even remotely close to being pleased with this chapter. It didn't flow nearly as easily as the previous one, and I'm assuming that's because of it not being so easy to correspond with the canon chapter.

I also had to come up with a new challenge, because there's no chance in hell he'd tolerate being strung in midair and they would be reluctant to do so anyway because of his status as a noble in their eyes. Tabitha herself is detached from social gossip and as such has nowhere near the amount of respect or fear that most of her peers do concerning him.

The Life Ring, which was his starting gift, was his wedding ring, as some of you might make the connection. Before you ask, he still has it. The +2 variants of his rings are all the same ring, just enchanted to be stronger.

And before I get any reviews complaining (or praising) Louise learning sorcery; don't. She isn't going to be able to because Souls' sorcery relies on, well, souls, which Brimiric magic is not capable of processing. I'm allowing pyromancy because that's just wandless Fire magic which is, from what I've been told, possible but extremely difficult to do. I'm also making pyromancy closer to the Dark Souls iteration, with a twist; the reason it's frowned upon is because it also requires intimacy, which considering how scholarly most NPC teachers are, is greatly frowned upon because it hinders academical pursuit.

I caught a lot of you by surprise with Kirche starting a relationship, and most of you seem to approve barring a few here and there. I actually do think this relationship can work, and a sharp reader noted that lines can be drawn to Alva and Zullie, which I assure you I will make full note of. It all comes to the muse though.

Tayrr was active in Drangleic's prime; we know this because the Bearer fought the Giant Lord so he must've been there prior to or at least during Drangleic's invasion. So why wouldn't some other NPCs? I decided on Pate and Creighton because their past is a virtual blank slate.

EDIT: Wow I made a mistake that I didn't even notice and that's just flat out embarrassing considering I wrote the last quarter of the story or so dazed and half paying attention in class. I'm better at multitasking than that, usually.


	7. Notification

Before you panic, no this is not a notification Familiar of Souls is cancelled.

It's not undergoing a rewrite either.

Consider this my admission that I bit off a fairly large project. Familiar of Zero is a fairly large series, and attempting to combine that with something as vague in lore as Dark Souls and you're pretty much bound to either take the easy way out and take an established character or do a reverse crossover (bringing FoZ into Dark Souls).

I enjoyed writing the first 6 chapters of the story, something that I've been trying to forcefully recapture in Chapter 7; something I've advised many authors against.

So I'm going to take my own advice and go on an extended break in order to recapture my spark. I don't want to force my muse because last time I tried that I ended up scrapping the majority of my projects in a fit of frustration.

To show I have been writing, here's what I've written. Consider this a two month waiting apology.

* * *

Fouquet watched the scene from the safety of the bushes. _What sort of magic did that girl use? No magic just makes things explode… _She eyed a spiderlike crack running down the wall, just beyond the training wall that the spell splashed a little onto. _It's a tiny opening, but still one I can take advantage of. _She knelt and chanted as the earth rippled and changed under her.

"Now Zerbst, since you've lost, I never should see you near my familiar again!" Louise shouted triumphantly, her nose in the air.

Kirche was not looking too well, moping on her hands and knees in an OTL position.

Tabitha watched this, slightly bemused, before returning her gaze to Louise's familiar. His eyes were still glazed as he stared at some far off point in the sky.

Abruptly, she felt something, a rumble in the ground. Kirche and Louise had noticed it as well, and turned to see a massive earthen golem heading for them.

Kirche ran off screaming, and the noise was enough to break the familiar out of whatever daze he was in. "Wha…"

Then his eyes fell onto the golem and immediately he rose to his feet, hand clutching the staff and the other unsheathing the white metal sword at his hip. "A Giant? Here? How?" he muttered, before white energy gleamed around the crystal and a blue vapor rose from the ground around him. The air hummed in anticipation, and with a roar, four white spears of light erupted from the sapphire in his staff.

. . . . .

_How could a Giant possibly be here in this land? I slew their leader, the rest should've fled back across the sea_! Tayrr thought rapidly.

Dread filled his heart.

_Or is this the land beyond the sea, the Giants' home?_

If so, then he needed to gather every civilian in this land and promptly evacuate back to Drangleic. King Vendrick would likely take them back in-

_The rasp of a rotten corpse as it fell sideways, disintegrating into red ash, the exquisite crown and sword falling with a clatter to the stone floor._

He grunted in mild exertion. He had time to think of that later, now he had to eliminate this giant.

It was a meager one, and did not even have its weapon. It would be a simple matter to eliminate it with his sorcery.

. . . . .

Fouquet muffled her shriek under her hood. She was planning to step over the still sitting youth but he quickly focused on her before promptly using magic to defend himself. And he was doing a very good job of it.

His projectiles, whatever they were, were piercing her golem with absurd ease and efficiency. If she didn't get out of here quickly then the golem would likely disintegrate and she'd be captured. She gazed longingly at the spiderline crack in the school's wall before lurching back and ambling towards the wall and leaping over it. Mid jump, blazing heat and fire hit the golems arm and roughly half of it was blown apart. The moment the golem landed beyond the gate she disintegrated it and ran to the darkness.

Tayrr still had his hand raised in a ready position, the flame burning angrily, before slowly lowering it. It was quick for a Giant; had he not gotten it fleeing with Forbidden Sun then he likely would have lost it.

Now, however… now he had to see Osmond. As well as retrieve the rest of his equipment. He would not hear out Louise's request, not now that there was a hostile entity roaming nearby.

. . . . .

The following morning, there was quite a commotion over last night.

Someone had attempted to break into the tower containing the vault using an Earth golem, but was repelled by Vallière's familiar. The Earth golem was the signature tell of Fouquet, and it being the first time the thief had ever been repelled, the staff was naturally impressed.

However some teachers could only be angry at the fact the vault had been targeted in the first place.

"How daring of him to target the academy!"

"Who was on duty last night?" a teacher snapped.

Mrs. Chevreuse felt a little anxious. She was on duty last night, but had shrugged off her duty wondering who would attempt to steal from the academy.

One of the teachers saw her guilty expression and called her out. "Mrs. Chevreuse! You were on duty last night, am I wrong?"

She shook her head, her eyes beginning to water. "I'm sorry… very sorry."

Old Osmond stepped in then. "Now is not the time to be hard on the lady."

The teacher who had begun to build momentum to a tirade responded "But headmaster, Mrs. Chevreuse failed in her duty! She was sleeping when she was supposed to be on watch."

The old wizard contemplatively stroked his beard while gazing at the shaken teacher.

"What's your name again?"

"Gimli! You forgot?"

"Ah, Gimli! Well, don't get angry. No true damage was done, and besides, how many of you can honestly say you're always vigilant during this duty?"

The teachers looked down in shame. Some of them could not deny having dozed off.

"I think all of us, myself included, are accountable for this incident. Why did we think that Fouquet would never target the academy? Was it the number of mages here that gave us the assurance we won't be attacked? This is fundamentally wrong," Osmond solemnly said.

He twisted the butt of his staff on the stone tile and continued, "Our complacency gave Fouquet the courage to trespass and attempt to rob us. We might have lost valuable standing in the eyes of the students' families."

He cleared his throat. "Now, do we know who witnessed the theft, and who was the one who repelled Fouquet?"

Colbert indicated the group of people behind him. "These four."

Louise, Kirche, Tabitha, and most unusually, and Louise's familiar. There was… no doubt the youngest child of the Vallière had a familiar who was also a mage.

"Oh… you four…" Osmond's eyes were fixed on the hooded youth, who returned his gaze levelly.

"Please tell us about the event in depth."

The familiar answered, cutting off his master who stepped forward. "A golem was heading for the walls of the school. I stopped it."

The staff immediately began fuming about the rude familiar, but were hesitant in saying this, fearing he may interpret it as a "challenge". None of them were quite confident in facing a mage who could materialize lightning with his bare fist.

The headmaster hummed a bit. "Did you see who was controlling the golem?"

"Black hooded cloak. Couldn't tell the gender."

"Yes, that is definitely Fouquet. Nice to have confirmation."

Louise muttered, "We wanted to give chase, but by the time we scaled the walls with the help of Tabitha's dragon, all we saw was a mound of earth."

Osmond noticed someone was missing. "Where is Miss Longueville?"

The gathered teachers blinked collectively, before their sweeping gazes confirmed the secretary was indeed not present.

"I haven't seen her since this morning…"

"Where could she have gone?"

The green haired secretary slipped into the room in the midst of these voices.

"Miss Longueville! Where have you been? Something terrible has happened!" Colbert said anxiously.

"I'm extremely sorry to be late," she said coolly and calmly. Tayrr's eyes flickered to the secretary. "I was doing some investigations. So…"

"Investigations?"

"Yes. There was a lot of commotion this morning, but nothing seemed to be disturbed when I searched the school. So I went into the villages around the area and asked around."

"Very efficient, Miss Longueville," Colbert praised the secretary briefly before returning to urgency. "Did you find out anything?"

"Yes, the whereabouts of Fouquet."

"What! Where did you get this information?" Colbert asked.

"According to the commoners around the area, they saw a person wearing a black hooded cloak entering an abandoned house in the nearby forest. I think the person is most likely Fouque and that abandoned house is most likely his hideout."

She was taking a risk, she knew, by tipping her hand. But perhaps while they went to investigate her hideout, she would have another crack at pilfering the Staff of Ruin.

Louise exclaimed "A black hooded cloak? That has to be Fouquet!"

Tayrr still watched the secretary. _And just what are you plotting, woman… _This Longueville was an extremely smooth liar. No flicker of expression at all. But she was a terrible actor. Should she not be in panic, like the rest of the faculty members? She was much too calm for an attempted robbery, and if Fouquet is truly as notorious as he is hearing, she should be at the very least happy she has this knowledge...

Perhaps she was different, naturally calm and efficient. Maybe he was just reading too much into things. But, in all his time in Drangleic, outside of Majula's inhabitants only two ever showed true honesty.

_That's not being fair to those before the Curse happened._

The monarch bit back a response to the tiny voice in his conscience before the image of red hair and sunlight abruptly shut him up.

The Curse has a habit of changing everything and everyone for the worst.

Osmond asked, rather excitedly at that, "How far is this house from here?"

"By foot it takes half a day, by horse perhaps four hours."

Alarm bells were ringing in Tayrr's mind and he abruptly spoke, "You talk as if you've been there." Ice settled around the room.

Longueville stiffened before smoothly saying, "It's near the village I investigated-"

"And these villagers did nothing? Not even a report to the authorities?" Tayrr's mind was rapidly moving. There should not be a way for Longueville to know the time it takes to get from Fouquet's hideout to the school unless she'd been there, and even if she was speaking the truth surely it was not normal for hooded, cloaked individuals to hideout in abandoned houses?

Longueville stared at him icily for half a minute before crumbling. "Yes, I went myself and investigated the location."

The teachers immediately burst into noise, some asking what she found, others berating her for her lack of self-preservation, Colbert being the latter. The monarch opted to tighten his grip on the Staff of Wisdom, and blue energy began to swirl around the head. A low humming filled the air, drowned out by the noise of the bickering faculty.

"When I went there, the house was empty and I could not find anything of note; it is possible Fouquet moved locations, but it is worth investigating. Perhaps we may find a clue of some sort to his next hideout."

The teachers accepted this without complaint, and the sorcery that had been gathering in his Staff faded. Yes, he was overanalyzing; that was a reasonable action. And it also explains why she knows how long it would take if she rode from there to here. Still, her avoidance of the second question still tugged at his mind.

He would leave it be, however.

Colbert proposed, "We should report this to the Imperial Court! We must seek reinforcements from the imperial army!"

Tayrr tuned out the bickering, seemingly a matter of pride. He drummed his fingers lightly on the metal shaft of his staff. Something was profoundly… wrong… in the air around the vault. It was like… hm… it was like he was standing before Queen Nashandra's portrait in Drangleic Castle, lessened and muted…

Ordinarily, he would not feel the effects, but his studies in the Dark and delving into the Dark Chasms of Old did give him a little more sensitivity to the Dark. It was as if his soul was trying to leave his body… Truth be told, he had no idea how the others in the room did not notice its potentness. Even the tiniest fragment of the primordial Dark could bring ruin to great kingdoms.

Unknown to him, the Crown of the Ivory King's ruby flashed briefly in his pack.

Tayrr's blood ran frigid. This feeling… it was like the laughing jars in the Shaded Woods. That meant there was an artifact of the Dark here. Something here had the potential to Curse life.

Why? Did they not know the risks of having a piece of the Dark? Even he, who delved deep into Dark to study it still had a heavy fear of it.

How? How did a fragment of the Dark surface? Was it a sign the Curse was encroaching on the land? Impossible, the First Flame still burned brightly in the land; there should be no way Dark would overcome Fire, not at this point in time.

He had to discuss this with Osmond. In private; he did not want to unduly panic the other mages.

"And… ah… Miss Vallière comes from a prestigious family, renowned for their mages. She'll be a promising one in the future… and her familiar…"

Tayrr returned his attention to the old wizard upon hearing his title. "He is capable of commanding powerful magic, and repelled Fouquet's golem… He will not be a match for him."

Mr. Colbert coolly added, "Yes, he is, after all, the Myoz-"

Osmond hastily covered the teacher's mouth before he could finish his sentence. "He, he's talking nonsense!" and gave off a nervous chuckle. A silence, painful in its awkwardness, enveloped the room.

Osmond removed his hand and spoke more solemnly. "If anyone thinks they are more capable than those mentioned, please step forward."

None took him on that challenge.

"The academy awaits the capture of Fouquet then!"

The three students stood to attention and said, "We swear upon our wands to capture Fouquet!" and curtsied. Tayrr watched this, bemused at the gesture. He wondered briefly if he should do a duel bow, but… no, there was no reason to. He was not challenging anyone.

"Well, ready the carriage and set off right away. You should conserve your energy before you reach your destination. Miss Longueville, could you go with them as well?"

"I would have to, to show them where the hideout is."

"Osmond," Tayrr's voice, ever calm and collected, betrayed nothing of his increasing worry.

"Yes? What is it, familiar?" the headmaster asked.

"I would have words with you when we return. I believe that something housed here is dangerous," Tayrr curtly said.

"What? What could we be holding that could pose a threat?"

Tayrr thought carefully on this. A careless word would bring questions regarding the Curse, and while he did tell Osmond and Colbert about it, it was because Osmond was the leader of the school, and he saw no reason to dismiss Colbert. But, given the other teachers' rather… volatile temperaments, he was worried about how they would react to housing a potential catalyst to the Dark in their very walls.

"This is not something I am comfortable discussing."

Immediately he was beset by angry questions from the other teachers, while Louise, Kirche, and Tabitha watched, either in worry, interest, or curiosity. Despite their insistence on having the right to know, Tayrr refused to answer their questions.

"Enough! We will discuss this later, familiar of the Vallière. Every moment we waste is another moment Fouquet could be slipping away!" Osmond suddenly shouted, his words suddenly demanding respect. The faculty recoiled, the students flinched in instinctive fear, and the monarch inclined his head.

. . . . .

Tayrr observed the carriage with mild fascination. Most horses in Drangleic had been killed in the battle against the Giants, and by the time he had returned, adorned in the ancient equipment of Heide, the race itself was virtually extinct, considered to be too valuable to risk potentially losing. Many soldiers and even high ranking officials in Drangleic never even rode a horse, not even Captain Drummond, one of the most distinguished captains in the entire Royal Army.

It was an efficient vehicle as well; on the off chance they were attacked, it could easily be jumped off and fled from. Such a design was to be noted, and he mentally stored a sketch of the carriage in his mind.

His master and Kirche were bickering again. Tayrr sighed and leaned back in his seat. Innovative as the carriage was, it didn't change the fact that it was boring. The quiet sorcerer was reading a book.

Kirche looked… a lot like Natsumi…

He frowned imperceptibly. He didn't see Natsumi again after he departed, but… could this not be considered cheating?

Or was it him subconsciously longing for her that influenced his decision to enter a relationship with the young pyromancer?

* * *

And there it is. Two months and that's all I have to show for it.

It's fairly clear, considering the length of the previous chapters (roughly twice the amount of words churned out in a DAY and uploaded in a week) I've clearly lost my spark.

While I'd love to continue writing this, I'm simply not motivated.

At the moment.

I'm reading other fanfictions and playing games when I can, and it's reigniting my spark... albeit in other things.

So, don't worry. This story isn't dead or being cancelled. It's simply going on an extended leave. Hopefully this chapter is enough for two months of waiting.

P.S: What I've written is in its roughest, most base form, with no looking back or adjustments, literally the second after I wrote it. I'd be more descriptive and not use abbreviations like OTL, so to the concerned guest reviewer, I planned to fix it and the abbreviation is just shorthand.


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